


The god of the Witchers

by Ravens_Ire



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lambert Being an Asshole (The Witcher), M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), alternative universe, god jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravens_Ire/pseuds/Ravens_Ire
Summary: This was how the boy died. Nestled in the distorted arms of a god, a failed experiment to create the ultimate monster hunter. Loved by no one but the weeping god, mourning the death of his first subject.For years Jaskier has been patching wounds and battered hearts and he is sick of it. It's time he entered the mortal world to fight for his Witchers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 416
Kudos: 1175





	1. Named

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This was just a random idea that popped into my head that I thought might make a cool story. Let me know if you love or hate it XD This chapter is just to set up the plot, lots of fluff to come.

The day he winked into existence was pleasant. The sun hung in the sky lazily, casting bright but not blinding light across the grass covered meadows. Sharing the space with the big puffy clouds that sluggishly drifted across the pale blue sky. It was early enough in the day that the birds were still serenading the rising sun. The scattered villages were bustling with life as farmers hurried to care for their flock and fields and shopkeepers pandered their goods with jovial fervor. All in all, it should have been the best of days to begin his existence. But the god didn’t notice any of this, every nerve of his newly crafted form was focused on the wail of a child in pain. 

The new god’s skin crawled, he could feel the mutations ravaging the child’s body. From his vantage point atop a tree, he could see the small boy shiver and twitch on the ground as a ring of cloaked figures watched on with indifference. The boy didn’t make a sound other than the gasp of his heavy breaths but the god could feel the pain, the terror that emanated from the boy's soul. Each wave of the pulsating emotions were like a shot straight through his chest and he knew he had to do something, anything to help.

He leapt from the branch and clumsily flew across the sky, heavily listing to one side and gracelessly crashing onto the grass in the clearing. He scrambled over to the boy’s side and carefully reached out a hand to comfort the boy, anything to stop the horrible pain he felt from the trembling body, and was dismayed when his hand passed right through the body. His ephemeral form distorted a bit as it mixed with the boy’s. He was distracted by the intoxicating sensation. It was like he was merging with the boy, the emotions becoming more potent as well as his control over them. Keeping his hand, or the warped version of it, within the shoulder he instinctively began to send comforting waves over the connection. The twitching slowed and the breathing calmed. He could feel the pain begin to recede ever so slightly. The eyes that had previously been scrunched closed in pain, partially hidden by furrowed brows, relaxed open as the small figure stared skywards in gratitude. This was how the boy died. Nestled in the distorted arms of a god, a failed experiment to create the ultimate monster hunter. Loved by no one but the weeping god, mourning the death of his first subject. 

That was how the god of Order, Simeon, found him. Sobbing over the prone body of a child abandoned in the middle of the woods. Shaken and confused by his first brief brush with life. It was from Simeon that he learned of his purpose. They were created in response to a need, a plea for help from those who had no other to turn to. It was their responsibility to answer the call. But, although they were made to soothe a specific plight, a god’s power was based on the devotion of his subjects. A new god was quite powerless in the beginning. They normally curried favor with their chosen people by fixing simple things at first. A prized dog yielding an impressively sized litter, a lucky dice roll, an arrow narrowly missing its mark. If the god was lucky, their subjects would recognize the god's influence over time and the god would be named. After a naming, everything changed. An exclamation of good luck became a prayer of gratitude in the god’s name. Disgruntlement over an unfavorable situation became a plea directed towards their god. In this, a god could draw power to bless those under his purview. The more directed and intense the devotion, the more power could be siphoned. For example, a farmer wishes he had more rain for his crops. The god of the harvest might be able to direct a few clouds to the vicinity around the farm. If a whole village prays for a drought to end, the god could summon the clouds from thin air and drench the ground for days. 

But power was a corrupter of all things, gods were not exempt. Many gods who were granted this sort of power lorded their might over both their subjects and the other gods. They might withhold rain for an entire season just to see how long the peasants would prostrate themselves on the ground in their temples before passing out. How wild and creative the sacrifices would become in the face of imminent starvation. The god of Order warned against this, to go against the nature of one’s creation was fraught with danger. If a god abandoned his purpose he would “fall” and become a mindless demon, doomed to torment those he once loved.

There was only one problem. If a god was made to fill a need, this newly made god wasn’t sure what need he was supposed to fill. The god of love could not see flaws and blessed others with the same blindness. The god of Justice was unyielding and unforgiving, doling out punishments to the wicked. The new god’s first encounter had been confusing, he wasn’t sure what his subject needed or what he had done to help. When he expressed his puzzlement, Simeon suggested drawing inspiration from the form he was given. The god of War was built like a tank, the god of Order perfectly proportionate. Before Simeon had finished speaking he was already running towards the nearest mirror and excitedly studying himself. He was disappointed. Scrawny, short and soft, his only redeeming feature was his bright blue eyes but his subjects, whoever they were, couldn’t even see him. He was like a dandelion, he looked like the lightest gust of wind could blow him away. 

As a god, he should have some sort of affinity. Under the direction of the elemental gods he tried calling wind, fire, rain. The god of calamity instructed him on how to incite a volcanic eruption and the god of love showed him the delicate art of bringing two lovers back together. But no matter what he did, nothing happened. He could feel the small bit of power stored in his core from the undirected gratitude granted by his first subject. But he couldn’t figure out what to do with it! It was very frustrating. Where he first sought counsel from the other gods he quickly began to avoid them. He hadn’t felt the tug of a subject since that first day and he could see the pity in their eyes. Their talents all came to them naturally with plenty of subjects vying for their favor. The god of the hunt effortlessly influenced the animals around him toward the hunters who he could feel as if he was tethered to each of them by a string. He hadn’t felt anything since that first jolt of pain.

His hope slowly rotted as years passed with no change. The pity in the other gods soured into scorn. He was dubbed the powerless god, the god of nothing, the unloved god. He spent his days hovering near the grave of the small boy he had failed.

It was when he was gently drifting along with the wind one day that he heard the call of his second subject. The same jolt of pain and helplessness coursing through him like a lighting strike. He almost fell out of the sky. He followed his bleeding heart to the same clearing of that first night. The boy lying on the ground this time was slightly older. His blond hair mussed with dirt as he too lie twitching on the ground, the same circle of motionless men looking on. It was early spring, so the meadow was awash in bright yellow flowers. The struggles of the boy and the boots of the men had crushed most of the delicate stems in the nearby vicinity but there was one flower still standing. The boy reached out toward a small flower, seeking comfort from the only living thing within reach. He didn’t hesitate this time to gather the boy in his arms and pour all the love he could into the gyrating form. He could feel his small store of power leak out of him as the tension left the body beneath him. The small hand opened up to reveal the crushed buttercup blossom, “Thank you Jaskier” the boy sighed as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

Jaskier...his name. No longer was he the god of nothing. He had been named by his subject. He could feel a surge of power well up in him unlike anything he had ever felt before. The previously motionless figures sprung into action and tore the boy from the god’s arms. With a cry of rage Jaskier leapt up and beat his fists against the nearest man’s chest. To his surprise the man stumbled back, nearly dropping the boy before righting himself. The man shoved the boy into the arms of the other men and drew a sword. He made a few warning swings into the night, covering the retreating figures from the unknown presence. Jaskier circumvented the wild swings with ease and followed the men deeper into the woods. 

To Jaskier’s surprise he could feel his tether to the boy even as he was carried out of sight. It was as if the boy was an extension of his soul. He followed the group to a small tower built into the cliff-side, they brought the boy inside and laid him on the bed, chatting excitedly over his prone form. 

“Do you think it worked?” “He survived!” “We will have to run him through the tests when he wakes up!” “This is amazing progress, prep the next subject! We will try again with the same formula once we confirm this one was a success.”

Jaskier ignored their inane drivel and went to crouch protectively over his subject. He watched over him through that long night, heart almost stopping every time the boy groaned and shifted, deathly afraid he would lose this subject like he lost his first. 

It wasn’t until he gained his second subject that he started to fully understand his purpose. These boys were Witchers, strong and feral. Mutated until they were on par with the worst monsters in the world. They had boundless strength and were taught to be self sufficient and merciless. But as they were sent out into the world they were wholly unprepared for the loneliness. They had no defense against the hatred directed toward them, caught off guard by the disdain when they were taught their whole life that they would be saviors to the world. Taught to smother their emotions they were incapable of turning to anyone for comfort. They were alone in the world. Jaskier was the god of the Witchers. He was soft and scrawny and jovial because what they needed wasn’t strength, it was compassion, understanding, love. And that was something Jaskier had in abundance. 

Each new potential Witcher before their mutation was instructed by their predecessors “When the pain reaches its peak and it feels like you are about to die, look to the flowers” and Jaskier was always there. Waiting with tears in his eyes in the clearing, ready to welcome his new subject into his open arms or to help ease their pain as they passed into the next life. The buttercup became the hidden symbol of the Witchers. They bore ferocious animals to the world on medallions and armor, but tattooed on their inner ankle was a small yellow flower, their true source of strength. When the pain of the world became too much they would rub the marking and whisper “Delicate flower, trembling in the wind, bear my pain as I am no longer able.” Before they could finish Jaskier would have them wrapped in his arms, crying the tears they could not. With whatever power he had in him he would heal their wounds, repair their heart and pour love into the cracks of their soul. 

But it wasn’t enough. There was too much hate and loneliness and self loathing. He was not a solution to the problem, just a quick patch job. If he wanted to heal his Witchers he needed to get more hands on. That was when he began to store little bits of power here and there. Amassing it deep in his core. Witchers are stubborn folk. They don’t ask for help often and express appreciation even less. They would be caught dead before building a temple. Jaskier was pretty sure they thought it was some sort of secret Witcher spell they were casting rather than receiving help of any divine sort. So he horded as much power as he could while still mending his poor monster hunters. Waiting with baited breath for the day when he could step forth into the mortal world with a body of his own to fight for his Witchers in whatever way he could.


	2. Mortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier arrives in the Mortal world and makes a beeline for his Witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously love all the comments! Thanks for taking the time to read my random fanfic. I really appreciate it ^-^. Also, idk if you guys feel this but posting a new chapter/story is SO STRESSFUL. I feel like I have to mentally prepare myself each time I hit post and have chocolate nearby in case everyone hates it and I have to do damage control. Maybe it's just me >.<

It was finally ready...or at least he thought it was ready. Jaskier looked at the body lying on the grass in front of him in trepidation. It had taken him more than a fortnight to craft it after he had squirreled away the last of the necessary power. He had anticipated having to wait at least another half a year to have enough but one of his Witchers, the fool, went toe to toe with a manticore and did not walk away unscathed. His arms had been so badly butchered by the horns that he could not reach down to his ankle and resorted to invoking Jaskier’s name instead. The pleading “spell” cast in his name was a cheap imitation of a prayer but it was close enough to have quite a kick behind it. Jaskier had more than enough power to gently coax the body into healing the worst of the damage and still have more than enough left over to complete his masterpiece. It lay there breathing on the ground, just waiting for him to slip in. Not sure exactly how to go about merging with it he resorted to just plunging in headfirst when he was brought up short by a hand firmly gripping his collar. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” The flat voice questioned. 

Jaskier turned toward Simeon. Of all the gods, Simeon was the only one that hadn’t turned against him during his “dark days” as he referred to them. He wasn’t sure if the god of Order was capable of feeling enough emotion to truly persecute anyone but he was grateful nonetheless. 

“I’m going to go save my Witchers,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. 

“Are you so sure that is such a great idea? You know the risks of entering the mortal world?”

“Of course I do. You’ve only drilled it into me like a million times. Now Jaskier,” he took on a pompous tone that sounded nothing like the other god, “the mortal world is full of danger. While a fatal blow to the body won’t kill you,” at this he began to pace with self importance “,the recovery process is long and arduous and if you are discovered and captured-” he paused, choking slightly on the words. That was the part that actually terrified him. He knew of the cruelty of man, had witnessed it through the eyes of his Witchers everyday, but the thought of being locked away to be slowly torn apart and studied...he shuddered. 

“Anyway, I’ll be careful, don’t worry.” He finished and prepared himself mentally once again to enter the body. He shook out his hands nervously and reached for the prostrate body in front of him. This time there was no restricting force on his collar. His entire form distorted as it came into contact with the skin. He could feel himself connect to each nerve, it tingled and itched a bit, not an entirely pleasant experience. When the sensation eased he felt heavy, solid. He flicked his eyes open for the first time. 

It took him a while to get used to his new body. The weight was so different, so unusual, he wasn’t sure how people functioned like this. If he was ever going to help his Witchers he needed to blend in. He cocked his hip out, trying to imitate one of the nobles he had seen and immediately fell over, scuffing his knee on the rough pathway below. Tears welled up in his eyes involuntarily at the pain, it was so potent coming directly from the nerves. When he soothed the Witcherss pain it didn’t hurt any less, it was just...different. The pain coming from his own body was sharp, pulsing in waves with his heartbeat. Sharing another’s pain was like pulling a blanket out from under someone, a lot of resistance at first and then it falls over you all at once. He was able to siphon the pain from his subjects into himself and then quickly release it. This was frustrating and annoying, it wouldn’t go away. He could see why his Witchers were always grumpy. He quickly knitted the small wound back together and attempted once more to get to his feet.

Once he had mastered balance, he began his journey once again. Walking along the pathway he felt like he had to lift his legs extra high so that they didn’t catch on the loose stones and debris that littered the pathway. It was only when he caught his reflection in a nearby lake that he realized he looked ridiculous. He looked more like a prancing pony than a human. He spent the rest of the day by that lake, walking back and forth until it looked semi-natural. Luckily everything else seemed to translate well from his other form but by the time he made it to the inn, it was nearing dark. He could feel his Witcher on the inside and he almost vibrated with excitement. He would actually get to hold his Witcher. He has chosen Geralt simply because he knew Geralt. His heart bled so much more easily than the others. His need to be loved contradicted harshly with his fear of rejection and it left him broken more often than not. He could leave the other Witchers alone for a few months between visits but he found himself piecing Geralt back together almost every week. Oftentimes the only time Geralt could get any restful sleep was in Jaskier’s arms, Jaskier both loved him for it and wept at the injustice.

He hesitated as he reached for the inn’s door. This was it. His chance to fight back. And still he hesitated. He worried that he wouldn’t be enough, as he hadn’t been these long years. If he couldn’t fix what was broken then he would have to live the rest of eternity knowing that his people didn’t only get dealt a shitty life, but destiny decided to rub it in their faces by giving them an inept god as well. 

He slowly pushed at the door, almost hoping that it was locked and he would be forced to leave and try again later. To his dismay it swung open and he was greeted by the loud brash laughter that only came after a few two many tankards. He slithered into the inn and sat himself at one of the tables, not yet ready to go looking for his Witcher. He would try his hand at people first, just to see what it was like. The innkeeper bustled over. 

“ Hello there young man. Haven’t seen you around these parts. What’s your name?” He asked with a bright cheery face. Jaskier had to admit, a friendly face was exactly what he had been hoping for. 

“Hello!! I’m Jaskier! J-” a loud hacking from behind him interrupted what he had been about to say. Him and the innkeeper waited a few long awkward moments for the coughing to subside before he continued. “Just passing through! I was hoping I could stay here tonight.”

“Of course of course young master, one silver for a bath, food and room all to yourself.” 

Jaskier was relieved. It was commonplace for the gods to perform small tricks for each other to show off their gifts, it was a source of pride. So when Jaskier had asked the god of Prosperity what the easiest way to obtain mortal currency was he wasn’t surprised when the god handed over a heavy sack. “The easiest way is to pray to me of course!” He laughed with gusto, his ample belly jiggling with the force of his mirth. Jaskier had thanked him profusely but was a bit worried. He had no idea what anything cost in the mortal world and had no way of knowing how long the sack would last him. He was happy to say he had a good long while before he had to worry about money if this inn was any indication. He realized he had been ignoring what the innkeeper had been saying. 

“-would recommend as there are some...unsavory sorts around here and ye don’t look like much of a fighter.”

“Unsavory sorts?” Jaskier questioned. 

The innkeeper gestured his head meaningfully behind Jaskier and he turned around and saw Geralt. All his nervousness fled when he caught sight of the white haired Witcher and the calm and steady beat of love took its place. The Witcher was staring hard at the table in front of him, his brow furrowed in concern and puzzlement. It took everything Jaskier had not to bound out of his seat to wrap him in a hug, he was about to lose the fight when his brain caught up with his heart. He turned back around slowly to the innkeeper. 

“What do you mean unsavory sort?” His voice was icy cold and although it was a question it came out sounding more like a death threat. 

“Oh you know, those freaks of nature. I wouldn’t even let them into my inn around nice proper folk like yourself if I wasn’t afraid they would try to kill me for slighting them.” The innkeeper sighed like allowing the Witcher into his inn was an unsightly price of doing business, like the slave trade paying the warden to look the other way.

“Ah, I see.” That was the only warning the innkeeper got before Jaskier was on top of him. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Geralt didn’t want to be here. Sure the inn was clean and the candlelight cast a merry glow around the room, but he would much rather be in the woods alone with Roach. He could feel the glares of the other guests trained on him as he took another long drought from his tankered. It was only until he was able to find another job. This village was on one of the main roadways that spanned across the entire kingdom. If he waited here for a few more days he was sure to come across at least one request with all of the traffic that cycled through this inn. He briefly glanced up when he heard the door squeak open but quickly re-affixed his eyes back on his drink when he saw it was just some slight noble. Deciding he would finish this drink then head upstairs to his room for another sleepless night, he took a long gulp from the tankard. As he was swallowing he heard the little noble introduce himself and promptly spewed half the drink all over the table. The other half sloshed down his airway and he began to choke loudly. He hacked and heaved uncontrollably for a few minutes in his corner of the room, eventually gaining enough control over his lungs to hold in the coughs until they died down. His face was slightly red with the effort.

Did he say Jaskier?! He studied the noble with suspicion. He had never heard anyone else use that word outside of Kaer Morhen. His gaze turned considering. There had been rumors among the Witchers of those who were close to death who invoked the healing and saw a small figure approach them and ease their pain. Geralt had never believed it of course. That was ridiculous. He called upon the strange healing at least once a week and he had never seen nor felt anything resembling a person. It was a nice thought, that someone was out there watching over them, but it was a wishful dream, nothing more. It was more likely that the man caught wind of the Witchers’ fascination with the little flower and assumed the name to try and bond with him before unveiling a dangerous request he would expect Geralt to take care of. The flower was a jealously guarded secret but Witchers were not the most careful sort.

He turned away to gather his things when he heard a crash and glanced up to see the young man on top of the innkeeper, straddling his ample belly. The innkeeper had the man's arms trapped at the wrists as he tried to hold the clawed hands away from his eyes. The noble was spitting and hissing in the innkeeper’s face as he tried to gouge it with his fingernails. If there were words hidden in the animalistic sounds he couldn’t distinguish them. He leapt to his feet and rushed forward to pull the young man off the owner of the inn.

He braced himself to dodge the flailing arms and sharp nails but to his surprise, the second he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist all the fight instantly drained from the noble. He relaxed completely in Geralt’s arms and swiveled his head around to look at Geralt, his hand resting lightly on Geralt’s own encircling his waist. The second Geralt saw those eyes he froze, they were like the sea on a sunny day, the sky just after the clouds had rained themselves to the ground, the shimmer of a sapphire necklace. But the most unique aspect of those eyes is they saw him. Like no one ever had before. They looked deep into his soul and stripped him bare. If he could cry he was sure he would have broken down right then and there at the unabashed compassion and love he saw directed at him. He stood there frozen as the man brushed the back of his hand lightly against Geralt’s cheek, the gesture so intimate it should have had him cringing back, but it was all he could do not to lean into it. The moment was broken when Jaskier turned back to the whimpering man on the floor and straightened his shirt. “Well I sure showed him didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter lots of fluff between Geralt and Jaskier and Jaskier starts to implement his plan!


	3. Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt follows Jaskier to confirm his suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, happy 4th! For those of you still reading this I love you all! I adore the comments as well and use a lot of them for ideas for the following chapters so THANK YOU! Also, sorry I switch back and forth between perspectives. I feel like Geralt and Jaskier are never on the same page so I have to show both sides.

So violence was NOT the way to go. Jaskier sat dejected on the doorstep of the inn, exactly where the innkeeper had thrown him out. Well, where the innkeeper TRIED to throw him out. He had only gotten as far as grabbing Jaskier’s shoulder before he was roughly shoved away by a menacing Witcher. Regardless, he was now banned for life, not that he would have stayed at such an ignorant, spineless, discriminatory establishment anyway. He was a little glad to have ruled out violence so quickly. He looked at his wrists that were beginning to purple in the shape of the innkeeper’s meaty hands. Forceful subjugation of the Witcher’s oppressors was never really at the top of his list anyway. Not that he couldn’t have done it. He was on good terms with the god of War after all but he was better suited to a...gentler version of persuasion.

He shook himself, trying to dislodge the gloom that had settled over him. He was so lost in his thoughts he jumped about a foot in the air when the front door swung open. It was pushed forward with such force Jaskier could feel the rush of air across his face as it flew back and slammed into the outer wall of the inn. A slight splintering crunch indicated at least some lasting damage was done. He glanced toward the open doorway and saw Geralt looming with all his bags swung easily over one shoulder. 

“They kicked you out too?!” Jaskier cried with dismay. The dejection settled back over him and his head plopped into his hands, like his desolation had physical weight. Geralt didn’t even know who he was and he was already causing more problems for his Witcher. Maybe it was best that he made this journey alone. It really was selfish of him to want to drag one of his Witchers along. He just missed them so much when he was away and the chance to spend quality time with one of them was a dream come true.

He sat there curled in on himself for some time before he grew suspicious of the silence. I mean, don’t get him wrong, Geralt was light on his feet but even he would have made some noise on the squeaky wooden boards as he departed. He peeked up from his hands and saw Geralt standing in the same spot at the top of the stairs shifting his weight from side to side awkwardly. His hand was half raised in the air but when he caught Jaskier’s gaze he quickly let it drop back to his side. Jaskier sighed, it was best he moved on and stopped getting in Geralt’s way. He stood up and brushed himself off briskly, sparring one last longing glance at his Witcher before he turned back to the path and walked off with as much confidence as he could muster. 

Jaskier hadn’t been walking very long when he realized that he could still feel Geralt next to him. He concentrated on their connection and located him behind a large tree. When he began walking again he could feel Geralt moving with him, keeping a safe distance away but there nonetheless. A smile stole across his face and his steps became lighter, his arms swinging gleefully next to him. Whatever the reason, Geralt was coming with him and he couldn’t bring himself to turn him away. Everything was going swimmingly when he felt his heart give a painful jerk...shit. He figured he would have a bit more time before one of his other Witcher’s needed him. He wasn’t exactly sure how to detach himself and gave his soul a few cautionary tugs. Once he jostled it a few times he felt himself slip out of the mortal body like a wet fish slipping between fingers. It wasn’t ideal, leaving his body behind in the middle of the road but he could feel the Witcher on the other end becoming frantic when Jaskier didn’t respond immediately. 

With reluctance he abandoned the crumpled body and rushed toward his subject. The Witcher was on the ground, rocking back and forth slightly. As Jaskier settled in behind the Witcher’s shaking form and began carding his fingers lovingly through his hair, he could feel the body calming underneath him. Guilt hit him strongly when he spied the tattoo, smudged with blood and blistered. He knew he had sacrificed a bit of his ability to sense his Witchers while in his mortal form but he didn’t realize how desensitized he had become. He hadn’t felt this Witcher’s need until he had become near unconsolable with panic. He hugged the man tighter and poured out all the love he had, trying to drown out the screaming heart.

He felt the power flood into his core before he even noticed the man was brokenly whispering “thank you” over and over again under his breath. He felt sick. He wasn’t this type of god. To ignore his subjects suffering until they were frantic in order to squeeze as much power from them as possible. He almost gave up then and there. Left the body on the side of the road and went back to his normal duties. But he couldn’t. Too many years he had stood by and watched the weight of the hatred drain the life from his people. No longer, he needed to try, no matter the consequences. 

He definitely would need to try and tweak his body to allow for greater sensitivity though. Shit, his mortal body. He glanced up at the sky and was dismayed to see that the sun had long set. He had been gone longer than he anticipated and he could only hope that his body hadn’t been crushed by a passing wagon. With one last caress he left the Witcher sleeping peacefully in the clearing. He reluctantly backed away, afraid the second he turned the Witcher would wake up. He has only just made it past the clearing when he felt a sharp tug from Geralt’s tether. With trepidation he turned and rushed back to his abandoned body.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt was still feeling off center when the innkeeper moved to grab Jaskier. He just reacted, violently detaching the offending appendage and roughly shoving the man back to the floor. It felt wrong for the innkeeper to touch him. Like his filth would rub off on Jaskier and taint him in some way. He was so surprised at his instinctual reaction that he just stood there as they escorted Jaskier out of the inn. His life was steeped in violence but he usually drew the line at people. The innkeeper got back on his feet once again, more slowly this time, and gritted his teeth as he glared at Geralt. It was obvious he wanted to kick him out too but was too afraid to confront him. Geralt just turned to gather his bags he had left on the table and moved towards the door. He still wasn’t sure what to think about Jaskier, to have such a violent reaction to his presence was a bit worrying. He started to reconsider the myth the other Witchers had whispered about but he was going to withhold any verdict until he got some more evidence. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to let him out of his sight. 

He almost stumbled over the small form when he walked out. Jaskier was sitting on the porch looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. When he glanced up and saw Geralt his expression shattered even further and he could see the beginnings of tears gather at the corner of his eyes before he buried his head in his hands. In the wake of Jaskier’s distress everything looked darker, like a cloud had blocked the sun. He glanced up in surprise at the setting sun, he hadn’t noticed any clouds earlier in the day. But there it was, shining unimpeded with all the solidity it normally did. But as its rays reached to kiss the earth it was like they were being diverted or distorted somehow. Everything felt cold without their warming glow. He had just worked up the courage to reach out and place a hand on the trembling shoulder when abruptly the rays broke through and quickly went about warming the previously untouched area, Jaskier jumped up and without another word set off down the road. Geralt almost called out but when he opened his mouth he realized he didn’t know what to say. “I feel inexplicably happy when I’m around you, it freaks me out, let’s travel together.” Yeah no. “I want to touch you to see if it feels like when I rub my ankle.” Confusing and creepy, way to go. “You look too weak to travel alone, I need to know you are safe,” stalker much?

He ran to grab Roach and then set off after Jaskier, making sure to keep far enough behind that he wasn’t noticed. Berating himself the entire time. Oh sure Geralt, just creepily follow him. That is a REALLY GOOD FUCKIN IDEA. Everytime it looked like Jaskier was slowing down for a rest or turning to glance behind he would pull Roach with him off the road and into the trees or duck behind a large rock. Not suspicious at all. But it was too late now. Not the first time he wished he knew what was wrong with him. 

At least following Jaskier was entertaining. Every hour that went by he was more and more convinced that Jaskier was not human. He was distracted by _everything_. He saw him, on four separate occasions, bend down to pick up a random object and inspect it curiously before licking it, gagging, and throwing it back to the floor in disgust. At least nothing he tasted was poisonous. Once, he passed by a large tree and when Jaskier leaned back to try and see the top he completely lost his balance and almost toppled to the floor, righting himself just in time to avoid eating dirt. It was downright bizarre yet a bit endearing. He was like a newly born foal, stumbling around, it was...cute. 

He had been cautiously rounding a corner when he saw shiver run from the tips of Jaskier’s feet all the way up his back. Jaskier began seizing violently and then all at once the tension fled and the man dropped bonelessly to the ground. When people fall it is all locked limbs, the knees and elbows fly out instinctually to protect the face. He had never seen someone collapse like this. It looked like a marionette whose strings were cut, no, that wasn’t quite right. It was more like a jacket someone roughly pulled off and dropped on the floor in a crumpled heap. Geralt dropped Roach’s bridle and ran towards the limp form. He reverently turned the body over onto its back and searched the face for any reaction. He could feel the heart beating strongly beneath his fingers and breath lightly dust his face. But no matter what he tried Jaskier wouldn’t wake up. He shook the body gently and then with more force.

It was strange, the body seemed washed out somehow. Like the light had fled leaving it a husk of what it once was. He gently picked the limp body up in his arms and carried it back toward Roach. Grabbing a blanket he wrapped it around himself and then wrapped himself around Jaskier. He briskly rubbed at his arms, pleading for the man to wake up. Although rationally he couldn’t believe this man responsible for every Witcher’s will to continue, his soul screamed at the idea that he might have lost his one source of comfort in this world. With each minute that ticked by his stress ramped up. His hand twitched towards the tattoo on his ankle, his muscles instinctively reacting to his distress. Not caring that he looked like a superstitious fool he rubbed the tattoo, choking out the familiar verse and silently pleading for Jaskier to come back. Almost immediately the still body in his arms jolted and the eyes flew open. Jaskier shifted in Geralt’s lap so he could wrap his arms gently around his broad shoulders and fitted himself against his chest like he had done it a million times before. The familiar peace and love that he had come to rely on flooded him and he knew. He grasped desperately at the man in his arms, horror coursing through his body at what he almost lost, what he could still lose. The fragile weak body that fit so perfectly in his arms terrified him. They had to get to Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really rough for me to write for some reason so if it feels unpolished I'm sorry >.< Plan on lots of protective Geralt and fluff in the next chapter.


	4. Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt stresses about Jaskier's protection and Jaskier puts his plan into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what was up with this chapter but I deleted and rewrote it like 3 times. Last night consisted of me staring at a blank word document for like 2 hours. I guess this is what they call writers block >.< But it is done! Hope you like it! ^-^

Geralt awoke with a start, not sure when he had fallen asleep. He felt a warm body pressed against his side and turned to see Jaskier half propped up next to him by a rock. His thigh flush with the length of Geralt’s arm. He looked exhausted. Jaskier’s eyebrows were drawn up pensively and the tips of his mouth were turned down. Dark circles contrasted with the bright blue, making them even more striking. At Geralt’s shift, Jaskier glanced down at him and gave him a comforting weary smile. His eyebrows smoothed out but he could still see the underlying tension in the set of his shoulders. With a muffled groan at the stiffness of his muscles, Geralt shifted up to rest his back against the same rock as Jaskier. He was grateful that the rock was small in size as it forced him to stay pressed up against Jaskier, he was not yet ready to lose the comforting presence after the scare last night. Jaskier shifted easily to make room for Geralt’s massive form. When Geralt was settled, Jaskier gently reached out and turned Geralt’s face towards his own. The blue disks flicked between the amber eyes intensively, what he was searching for he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was he seemed to find it, his fingers slid from Geralt’s jaw and a bit of the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift. Although, the burden he carried still seemed far too heavy for those slight shoulders. 

Geralt cleared his throat, “So..ah...what are you?”

“I’m a human, isn’t it wonderful?! I’ve always wondered what it would feel like.” Jaskier exclaimed.

“That’s not exactly what I meant…” Geralt trailed off awkwardly.

“I know.” The exhaustion that was so apparent in his face leaked into his voice. He just leaned his head back against the rock. It was a long while before he responded. “I’m not exactly supposed to tell you.”

Geralt tried to swallow his disappointment. 

“But...if you were able to guess I think that might be okay. It wouldn’t be the first time we were recognized.” He said thoughtfully before turning toward Geralt with an expectant expression. 

Put on the spot he realized he really had no idea. He tried to think back on everything he knew about Jaskier and he drew a blank. 

“Shapeshifter?” Even as it came out of his mouth he knew it was a stupid answer. It only explained a small portion of what Jaskier was. He quickly lowered his gaze to his lap, irrationally afraid of seeing Jaskier’s eyes tainted with disappointment. The great monster hunter couldn’t even make an educated guess. For goodness sake, it was his job! It was embarrassing. When there was no response he glanced at the man at his side and was relieved when he saw a small smile alight on Jaskier’s face, his eyes were still soft with affection.

“Not quite.” Jaskier carefully got to his feet, using the rock to steady his balance and picked up a large bag, his only possession that Gerlat could see, and slung it across his chest. It clanked loudly as the coins inside shifted against each other. Geralt would have been happy to sit there all day with Jaskier, but he reluctantly got to his feet as well and trailed after the man who had started to meander along the road. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Jaskier confidently leading the way and Geralt trailing closely behind him.

When Jaskier started lagging behind Geralt silently took point, using his position to scan for potential dangers. He was so focused on the dangers ahead it came as a surprise when he felt a sharp pain coming from the fleshy part of his bicep. He jerked back and saw Jaskier standing right next to him with a large blackberry thorn carefully grasped between two fingers. He inspected the thorn with disappointed eyes, the smudges under his eyes seemed to have gotten even deeper in the short time they had been traveling. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, half hearted. He let the thorn tumble from his fingers. He didn’t move away from Geralt though, seeming to want to say more before thinking better of it. All he got was a brief hand squeeze as Jaskier walked past him. A slight tingle shot up his arm and he could feel the small prick knit back together, the small sting vanishing. Although the bags under his eyes didn’t lighten, when they started seeing signs of other travelers he brightened considerably. The fresh drag marks of wagon wheels and the still smoking fire’s indicated they were nearing the next town. With the way Jaskier’s pace sped up, he was hell bent on reaching the nearest inn tonight. It might be just what he needed, a good night’s rest to wipe the tired lines from his face. It was too bad they were going to have to skip the town, if they took the well worn path toward the town at the juncture they would have to spend at least a few hours backtracking back up the road tomorrow to make their way to Kaer Morhen.

When Jaskier resolutely started down the wrong way Geralt grabbed his hand firmly and started pulling him towards the other fork. Although he didn’t resist Geralt’s handling, he wasn’t going to follow blindly. 

“Geralt, why are we going this way, is there something wrong with the town?”

“No, we are headed to Kaer Morhen.”

At this Jaskier did dig his feet into the earth. Of course this didn’t phase Geralt and he could have easily continued to drag Jaskier along with little to no effort. But he slowed down and turned toward Jaskier anyway, not loosening his grip on Jaskier’s hand, but willing to hear him out for now. He WOULD drag Jaskier to Kaer Morhen if he had to but it would be nice to have a willing companion for the long journey. 

To his relief Jaskier didn’t look mad, just confused. 

“Why are we going to Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt was impressed he even knew what that place was. Most people didn’t brush up on Witcher history. Content to just believe they popped into existence armed to the teeth with weapons and ready to be pointed in the direction of the nearest monster. He shouldn’t be surprised though, Jaskier did have a more...intimate relationship with Witchers than...well really anyone. 

He tightened his grip on Jaskier’s hand, worried that after his response Jaskier might try to flee. “It’s safe there. You are too fragile, too exposed. You mean...too much. You have to be protected.” He tensed, waiting for the indignant explosion that was sure to follow. 

Jaskier just gave him a sweet smile, “Geralt, none of the Witcher’s are even at Kaer Morhen right now. If you want we can go visit later, I would love to see everyone. But for now, I’ve got to get to the nearest inn.”

How did he know that?! Witcher’s are not even tracked by those who run Kaer Morhen. They move around too much, the only way to have any idea where one is at is through gossip and normally that information is stale by a few days. Witcher’s are always welcome at Kaer Morhen but they tend to drop in randomly and stay for an indiscriminate amount of time once they are there. He stared suspiciously at Jaskier. He could just be making that up to get Geralt to go along with him. Jaskier just sat there, hand limp in Geralt’s, staring down the pathway intensely. It wasn’t longing, more anticipation. 

He didn’t want to have to do it this way, but Jaskier left him no choice. If there were indeed no Witcher’s at Kaer Morhen they would just have to hunker down and wait in its safe walls until they wandered in. He reached out and grabbed Jaskier around his slim hips, hoisting him up and slinging him over his shoulder. Jaskier spluttered for a few seconds before going quiet.

“Geralt, you are going to put me down.” His voice wasn’t quite a whisper but it was low and commanding. A shiver went up Geralt’s spine but he held resolute and started the long journey to Kaer Morhen, careful to keep a light but firm grip on Jaskier. He kept his pace smooth so that Jaskier didn’t bruise himself against Geralt’s solid shoulder. 

“Geralt,” the voice was even lower this time, “put me down Now.”

Geralt missed a step, it was like something had physically tripped him up. His arms lost all of their strength and fell limply by his side. Jaskier slid off of his shoulder with ease and touched lightly on the ground. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier was both touched and annoyed. Geralt, the big softie, always trying to protect those weaker than him. But Jaskier didn’t need protecting. With one last longing look at the Witcher, still frozen in place, he turned and set off down the road to the inn. 

This inn was slightly less impressive than the first, the paint a little worn, the windows a little cloudy, but it would suit his needs perfectly. He was careful to avoid the splinters that were sticking out from the wall as he made his way over to a seat right in the center of the bustling tavern. His time spent with the god of Lust while trying to figure out his talent taught him that while he might not be considered “hot” in the conventional sense, he carried an aura of innocence around him that put the men around him at ease and had the women lapping out of the palm of his hand. He quickly combed his hair into a fashionable swoop across his forehead and smiled winningly at the first person to walk past him. His quick wit and naturally sympathetic doe eyes soon ensnared them into a conversation. Turns out, this poor sap had been down on his luck recently, something had been taking his sheep from his farm and he was frantic to stop it. He had tried everything, new fences, guard dogs, actual guards. Nothing worked, whatever defenses he constructed were torn through during the night, unfortunately for those guards. This was perfect. 

“Ah, but have you ever tried a Witcher?” Jaskier cocked his eyebrow up.

“A-A Witcher?” The lanky man stuttered in disbelief. 

“Of course a Witcher!” Jaskier gave him a look of disbelief tinged with a slight amount of mortification. “You mean to say you’ve had all these problems and haven’t thought to hire one?! They would solve your problem overnight for a portion of the cost you’ve spent on all your useless defenses. And they’re not bad to look at either.” He winked at a young woman who had been listening in a little too obviously. She blushed prettily. 

The man just looked at him with horror.

He heard whispers start up throughout the inn. He had purposefully been obnoxiously loud. “I heard they have horns.” “Well I heard they eat children.” “They bath in the blood of the monsters they slay.”

“Oh come on, I know we are a little off the beaten path but surely you all aren’t so ignorant as to believe those ridiculous rumors. Save me from ignorant farmers.” He rolled his eyes to the heavens in a dramatic show of exasperation. 

The crowd all bristled, embarrassed and chastised.

The man that sat across from him blushed sheepishly. “Of course I don’t believe all that, it just…”

“It’s just what? Some big strong man comes and takes care of all of your problems and you feel grateful that he could do what you couldn't, that he could protect your family? No, you feel shamed. So you make up some rumor that he has to be a monster, some villain so horrendous he is capable of feats that you could never accomplish. So people don’t start heralding him as a hero and forget about you, the victim.”

The man averted his eyes, “Of course not, um where could I go about looking to find one of these Witchers?”

The door slammed open in typical Geralt fashion and he strode in, frantically scanning the crowd until he found Jaskier.

Perfect timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of jealous Geralt coming your way with the next chapter.


	5. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate to figure out his lack of connection to his Witchers, Jaskier goes too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for all the comments! You are all wonderful. ^-^

Geralt drank in the sight of Jaskier, relief pumping through his veins. He felt a bit light headed as the tension drained from his body, leaving the previously clenched muscles aching. Unconsciously he rotated his jaw, his teeth creaking at the sudden lack of pressure. The potency of the relief was a testament to how lost in fear he had been. He had come back to himself, alone. When he couldn’t find Jaskier he dropped everything and started running. Realizing halfway to the town that he had left Roach behind. Luckily he glanced back and saw her trotting after him. Whatever bags he wasn’t carrying at the time of his rapid departure were still strapped to her back. He quickly mounted Roach. Although he knew he was progressing more quickly riding, it felt like they were moving in place. Roach was doing all the work so it gave him time to worry and fret. He was beside himself when he finally pulled up alongside the inn. He left Roach where she was, knowing she could take care of herself. Jaskier was his immediate concern.

Now he was sweaty and out of breath and MAD. He had thrown the inn door open to see Jaskier surrounded by an attentive audience, a wide grin on his face. After putting him through hell. He wasn’t a shapeshifter, he was a demon. And he was going to give him a piece of his mind.

He stomped across the inn to the large table Jaskier had commandeered and loomed over him.

“Geralt, just on time, I’ve found you a job!” He gestured at the man sitting across from him. He turned his glare toward him. The man shrunk back in fear. He wasn’t anything special. Too thin, too tall. His brown hair was limp and his eyes were beady. His clothes were tattered and looked to be homemade. And to top it all off he smelled of manure. He wasn’t worthy of Jaskier’s attention, so why had he left him alone on the trail to rub elbows with this ball of grease? He was a much better companion. He could keep Jaskier _safe_. 

He turned away from the man, completely dismissing him and crowded into Jaskier’s space again. 

“Jaskier-”

“Geralt, don’t be rude, he’s a customer.” He chastised. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, squishing his cheek against Geralt’s firm chest. 

“See! Cute and cuddly, like a big wolf!” His voice was a bit muffled as half his face was squashed into the firm muscle. 

The inn tittered in nervous laughter. Everyone rose up slightly in their seats, sure that Jaskier was about to be pummeled if not killed and not wanting to miss the show. When Geralt in frustrated exasperation returned the tight hug everyone exchanged shocked looks. He was still mad, but he could never deny a hug from Jaskier. He was like a sedative. The all consuming fury wasn’t strong enough to combat the love communicated in each touch. Embarrassed at the public display of affection, he shuffled Jaskier through the tavern towards the rooms. Jaskier blew a goodbye kiss to the crowded tavern and was answered with a suggestive hoot. In one smooth turn Geralt picked up the nearest cup, near full to the brim with beer and hurled it in the direction the sound came from. He slammed the door of the nearest room behind him but could still hear the dismayed shout and the shattering of the clay cup. He gently pushed Jaskier down on the bed before turning in a huff, keying himself up again. 

“How could you leave me?! I thought you were some kind of angel, but now I’m thinking you might be a demon, sent to torment me.”

“Still no, but you are getting closer.” Jaskier replied calmly, lounging on the bed.

Geralt growled at the unrelated answer before pausing. Jaskier, once again, successfully distracted him from his anger. If Jaskier was comparing himself to an angel, he definitely had no idea what he was dealing with. 

Jaskier was curled up on the bed now, blankets drawn in a haphazard pile on top of his body and face nestled into the fluffy pillow. His eyes half lidded as they fought to stay open. Geralt wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t leave Jaskier, but he didn’t know how to justify sitting in the beside chair, watching Jaskier as he slept. It was decided for him when Jaskier whined and reached out a hand in his direction. Once he had moved within reach he was quickly apprehended and pulled onto the bed alongside Jaskier. Slightly begrudgingly Jaskier relinquished one crumpled blanket and smoothed it over Geralt’s form before curling himself up in Geralt’s arms. With a hum of approval, most likely from the heat that radiated from Geralt’s body, Jaskier's eyes finally slid shut. As had always been the case, Geralt quickly found his sleep as well with Jaskier safe in his arms.

He awoke to two pairs of eyes peering down at him. One sparkling blue and the other brown pinpricks. 

“Dammit Jaskier!” He grabbed at the blanket that was sitting low on his hips and pulled it up to cover his chest, a thin barrier between him and the gaze of the uninvited guest. It wasn’t like the poor excuse of a man was trying to cop a look, if anything he seemed to be trying to avoid looking at Geralt at all. But, in his defense, it was very unsettling to wake up to those beady little eyes. Jaskier dumped a load of clothes on top of him, turning to push the man next to him forward. 

“Up, up! You have a job to do!” Jaskier began pulling his own bag onto his shoulder. 

“One, I am not doing this hunt, Two, even if I _were_ to do it you would NOT be coming with me,” he stated emphatically. Jaskier just looked at him with amusement. He bristled, if he didn’t want to go on this hunt, NO ONE, was going to make him. 

He set out from the inn, cursing under his breath. Fucking Jaskier with his Fucking doe eyes. The beady eyed man in front of him led the way to his farm. He kept glancing over his shoulder, like he was afraid to have Geralt at his back but was trying to hide it. At least he got one thing out of this deal. Jaskier promised not to leave the room. Normally he wouldn’t have trusted the little miscreant but he barred the door from the outside with a long piece of metal and threatened the innkeeper to keep it there on pain of death. He left Jaskier curled in the chair with a book almost purring in satisfaction, making sure to leave his rations in the room in case he didn’t finish the hunt tonight. It wasn’t the food that concerned him though, Jaskier looked even more tired in the morning than he had the night before. Something was wrong with him. He growled at the farmer to move faster. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier listened against the door to make sure Geralt was completely gone before arranging himself on the bed and slipping from his body. It felt like stretching after a long night’s sleep. Speaking of sleep, he was exhausted. He hadn’t been able to get more than half an hour the night prior, too stressed that with his limited connection to his Witchers, asleep he wouldn’t be able to tell if one of them were seriously injured. Jaskier also couldn’t risk leaving his body again around Geralt, the first time had been disastrous. He couldn’t imagine what Geralt’s reaction would be if he awoke to find an unresponsive body in his arms. All day yesterday he had been minutely tweaking his connection to the body and he still couldn’t seem to boost his signal. He just didn’t understand what the problem was. He had even reluctantly stabbed Geralt to test his tweaks...nothing.

He breathed in deeply and basked in the feel of his Witchers. All content...well as content as they got. Surprisingly, one was nearby. Just as far as the next town. He was sure he could nudge Geralt in that direction after he was done with his hunt. With a disappointed sigh he drifted back towards his body. Although he wanted to stay and go see his Witchers, it was more important that he spent what little time Geralt was away trying to figure out how to bypass the barrier his body was creating. 

He was exhausted but excited by the time he heard the metal beam sliding from the door. It had amused him when he heard Geralt slide the beam in place as he left, now the high pitched sound of the metal scratching against the iron handles of the door made his head pound. Something felt different, he seemed more in tune with his body and he hoped that could only mean he had figured it out. He quickly arranged his face into a bright smile and looked up to greet Geralt as he walked in. The smile quickly dropped when he took in Geralt’s appearance. There were long scratches over his face and across his arms. Blood was still dripping from the wounds that hadn't sealed yet. He heard a strange buzzing sound fill his ears, and a tingling numbness started creeping up his fingers. He hadn’t felt it. He thought he...he tried… His knees gave out and he hit the floor hard.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why can’t I feel it Geralt?” He peered up through his mussed bangs and the tears streamed freely down his face. Geralt was caught off guard, not sure what he had done. He knew he must look a gruesome sight, even if the wounds themselves were superficial. But Jaskier’s reaction didn’t make any sense. Confused at the question, he just shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s this stupid body, I hate it!” With sudden ferocity he swiped the blade Geralt kept in his boot and plunged it through his own hand. Geralt cried out in panic and dropped to his knees beside Jaskier. Confiscating the knife, he threw it across the room before ripping off his shirt to press against the gaping wound, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding. Jaskier just looked at the blood rushing from his hand with an expression akin to fascination, doing nothing to stop or help Geralt. 

“I...I understand, I know how to fix it.” He laughed gleefully. Geralt ignored his apparent psychotic break, concentrating on trying to seal the hole that went all the way through his fuckin’ palm!

When Geralt briefly glanced towards Jaskier’s face to check for shock he noticed the earlier hysteria had faded and he looked different. Geralt couldn’t explain it but he looked _more_ than he was before. Completely calm, Jaskier leveled his gaze at Geralt, “Don’t worry, everything will be okay now.” His eyes softened, “There is no need to be afraid.”

“Everything is not fine!” He shouted, gesturing wildly at the bloody cloth he held in his hand. Jaskier calmly pulled Geralt’s hands away from his own, gently shushing his protests. Jaskier unwrapped the soiled shirt from his palm, exposing his hand, hale and unblemished. 

“My God.” Geralt breathed as he rocked back on his heels, not sure how else to respond to the rapid recovery.

“Yes?” Jaskier answered off-hand before freezing.

Geralt probably wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for Jaskier’s reaction to his mis-step. It finally clicked. His god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Geralt has to learn to share Jaskier with other Witchers!


	6. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finally gets some answers from Jaskier and they have a tumultuous run in with another Witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay! Work has really been kicking me in the teeth this week :( Here is an extra long chapter, hope you like it! Also really sorry if the other Witchers are OC, I have only seen the show so I'm kinda making it up as I go.

Geralt leaned back against the wall, swallowing hard. The room tilted a little bit to the side so he closed his eyes and took deep breaths through his nose. He brushed his fingers lightly over the rough wooden floor. The rough grains catching against his skin grounded him. He sat there for a long time, longer than strictly necessary. The dizziness had long faded by the time he gathered himself and turned back toward Jaskier. Jaskier watched each movement warily, as if to make sure Geralt wasn’t going to sprint out the door. When Geralt just resituated himself on the floor, the tension faded from Jaskier’s eyes. 

Geralt was hyper aware of Jaskier, examining him from every angle, trying to unearth his newfound godhood. But try as he might to see Jaskier in a different light, he simply couldn’t. There were no sudden urges to prostrate himself at his feet. No uncontrollable compulsion to build a monument in his name and shout his praises to the masses. Jaskier was just...Jaskier. They’d had too intimate a relationship for too long for anything to change that. Jaskier had been a constant presence in his life since he was a child. He knew he didn’t need to earn his affection, Jaskier had proven that on many occasions. After his first kill he had gathered the limp gored creature in his arms and cried. Sickened by the blood that stained his hands, he had been more afraid that now that he was a killer, he would lose what made him special. What allowed him to call for aid. Everytime he looked at the creature’s matted fur and empty eyes all he could see was a trampled flower. He had been too afraid for days to call for help, he stopped eating, stopped sleeping. When he almost passed out during a sparring match one of the older boys slapped him upside the head and berated him soundly. That night, he reached with shaking fingers towards the tattoo. Tracing the delicate shape lightly he heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the warmth shoot through his body. All tension fled in the wake of the presence and he curled up to sleep, smiling for the first time in weeks.

He had screwed up A LOT since then and Jaskier had always come when he called. Jaskier being a god made a strange sort of sense in the context of everything he knew about him, but he didn’t act like the gods he had seen depicted in murals, hurling lightning from the skies and plighting the earth with a famine due to an inadvertent slight from an ignorant peasant. He struggled not to smile as he imagined Jaskier pompously lording himself over priests, instructing them to wander the earth and preach of his eternal mercy. Giving grave warnings of the consequences of inadequate tithes and devotion. He couldn’t reconcile the image with the soft, kind man in front of him, staring at Geralt like he would bear the pain of the world with a willing smile as long as Geralt was happy. The image of a broken flower flashed again through his mind and he shivered. It was past time to get some of his questions answered.

Jaskier still looked a bit upset but it seemed to all be directed inward. His lower lip jutted out and his eyebrows were furrowed. He was pouting. It wasn’t hard to hazard a guess as to why. Geralt was supposed to guess his origin, not have it dropped into his lap. He had blown probably the biggest secret ever. Knowing Jaskier, he wasn’t mad he had given it away but was upset he had let the cat out of the bag in such an inauspicious way. 

“So...a god huh?” Geralt began.

Jaskier just laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Yes, but it is not what you are thinking. I’m what you call a lesser god. I don’t have the following necessary to ascend. So if you want your enemies demolished or a miracle, you are going to have to look elsewhere. With me, what you’ve seen is pretty much what you get.”

Geralt just grunted in reply. “So you are the god of…?”

Jaskier quirked a smile. “You.”

When Geralt blanched, Jaskier corrected himself. 

“Well, all Witchers actually, I always have been, ever since your inception.” At this his smile drooped, his eyes glazed over, like he was reliving a painful memory. 

Geralt let him reminisce for a bit longer, giving him the proper respect due. But he could only wait so long before he continued with his inquiries. He was a little worried that if he hesitated or allowed Jaskier to become sidetracked he would never get the rest of them answered. Luckily, Jaskier’s eyes cleared after a few moments and nodded his head gratefully at Geralt, indicating him to continue.

“So you are immortal then? Indestructible?” He asked it in a bit of a rush. This was his most important question. If Jaskier was indestructible that would explain his reckless behavior and Geralt could relax, knowing that the fate of all Witchers didn’t rest in his hands. 

Jaskier looked thoughtful. “Time doesn’t really mean much to me. It has always just been something that dictated when I would lose each of you, when I would have to say my final goodbyes. I would guess without any interference I would most likely last as long as the Witchers do, but indestructible I am not. In this form I am more...fragile than I was previously but everything can be killed.”

Geralt’s mouth went a little dry, “So then this whole,” Geralt gestured at the blood on the floor, “Are you, ill?” He choked a bit on the last word, his voice a bit gruffer than normal. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier could feel the fresh air turn sluggish, mixed with Geralt’s pulsating stress. If it were any thicker Jaskier was sure he would be gagging. Thick locks of hair hung down over Geralt’s face, having fallen from his half drawn up hair during his hunt. They curled with sweat and lightly brushed against his jaw. His breathing was heavy, as if he too were affected by the heavy stagnant air. He could feel the turmoil curl inside Geralt’s chest, as it twisted around, fear leaked out, fear that Jaskier would leave him. Jaskier shuffled across the floor, not caring that his only pair of pants dragged through the puddles of blood, the material greedily soaking up the evidence of his earlier fit. Geralt’s gaze didn’t leave him once but he didn’t flinch back when Jaskier reached out and brushed the strands of hair away from Geralt’s face. He rested one hand earnestly on Geralt’s thigh and steadily met his gaze.

“Geralt, I am **fine**.” When Geralt turned his head to break the intense eye contact he captured his jaw and brought his eyes right back. “I won’t leave you.” He promised. When he could finally feel the air begin to clear he nudged his way into Geralt’s lap, twisting himself around so that Geralt’s arms caged him in and his head could rest comfortably on Geralt’s chest. Geralt had neglected to put on another shirt, his first lying in a bloody heap on the ground. Jaskier took comfort from the warmth of the bare skin against his cheek. 

“Assuming a mortal form has been...difficult. My powers were muted, I couldn’t feel you.” Jaskier’s hands clenched painfully, his nails carving crescent sized indents in his palms. Geralt must have noticed as his hands were gently worked open by Geralt’s callused fingers.

“But it’s over now,” he breathed in slowly, Geralt’s strong rhythmic heartbeat pounded in his ears. “I can feel you all.” Saying it aloud brought it home and all at once he was exhausted. He buried himself more securely in Geralt’s arms.

“If it is difficult for you, why stay? Besides the excellent company.” Although Geralt’s face remained deadpane, Jaskier could feel a small tinge of amusement swirl through the tension.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to do, something I need to do. And you are going to help me do it. You and Lambert.” He yawned.

Geralt shifted a bit in confusion. “Lambert, why Lambert?”

“Because he‘s on the way.” Jaskier mumbled, turning his face into Geralt’s chest and blatantly ignoring any further questions. He could feel his Witchers with each pound of his heart. With that thought at the forefront of his mind, he finally fell asleep. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt was dragging his feet. He was sure of it. He glared back at the sullen Witcher who shuffled along at a pace that would embarrass a turtle. When he had questioned him about it, Geralt had complained his legs were too cramped to move any faster, it was physically impossible. Jaskier felt a little guilty, He had woken up blissfully comfortable, still nestled in Geralt’s arms. Unfortunately, Geralt had spent the night leaned up against the wall of the room, and had a nasty crick in his neck to show for it. He would have left it at that, had he not seen the smirk on Geralt’s face as he turned away. It was like he was confident that if he gave a lackluster performance, Jaskier would just give up and they would turn back. As if. He was going to put a pep in that step if it killed him. He eyed the Witcher who was practically dripping weapons and reassessed. He was going to put a pep in that step and he _hoped_ it wouldn’t kill him. 

He slowly wandered to the end of the road, looking down into the ravine, deep but not too steep. This would suit his needs nicely. He lowered himself into the ravine, making sure he was just out of sight before letting out a loud shriek and dislodging a rock beside him so that it loudly tumbled down the hill. He heard the loud thump of Geralt’s footsteps as he barrelled to the edge of the pathway. Geralt had been about half a mile back due to his sluggish pace but he made it to Jaskier’s location in minutes. 

Jaskier had been expecting Geralt to pop his head over the side, and they would have a nice laugh about it before having a pleasant conversation about the root of the problem. He didn’t expect Geralt to **launch** himself over the edge. Geralt’s confused and surprised face hovered over Jaskier’s shocked one for milliseconds as he flew over Jaskier off the edge of the ravine. On pure instinct Geralt reached out and grabbed Jaskier, dislodging him from his secure handholds on the side of the cliff and dragging him down with him. Geralt's trajectory would have allowed him to roll to his feet and slide the rest of the way down but grabbing Jaskier threw him off. They tumbled down the long ravine. Geralt instinctively tucked his body around Jaskier’s so he bore the brunt of the sharp rock and twigs as they rolled over the uneven ground. It seemed like forever before they finally skidded to a stop. 

********

********

“Cramped legs my ass,” Jaskier said a little breathlessly. 

Gerlat just gave him a bewildered look. “Was that what this was about?! Jaskier, we just fell off a cliff!”

“I would hardly call this a cliff, and don’t turn this on me, you lied to me!” Jaskier looked at him accusingly. “Why don’t you want to meet up with Lambert?”

“Lambert’s an asshole.” Geralt said simply. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to refute him, Lambert had plenty of great qualities, ones he could wax on about for days. But he was right, Lambert was an asshole. 

“Yes, but he is _my_ asshole.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was no arguing with that. They climbed up out of the ravine. Well, Geralt climbed up out of the ravine carrying Jaskier most of the way. It was too pitiful watching Jaskier scramble partway up the ravine before losing his grip and sliding all the way back down.

They were both sweaty and exhausted when Jaskier perked up and tried to run around the bend in the road. Geralt caught him by the wrist and pulled him behind him. Sure enough, right around the corner was Lambert, trudging along the road, just as gruff looking as ever. Geralt sized him up, he seemed to be in good health, hair greasy and limp around his face and skin covered in dirt, but hale. He must have lost his horse in a hunt along the way as he had a large pack shrugged over one shoulder and there was no mount in sight. When Lambert saw Geralt he paused in surprise before his face went serious. 

“Geralt, drop whatever you are doing, we have been summoned to Kaer Morhen.”

“Lambert, what’s going on? We’ve never received a summons before.” Geralt questioned in surprise.

Lambert looked distrustfully at Jaskier before moving closer to Geralt and whispering “Over the past few days Witchers have been experiencing issues with their...marking. It has not been as responsive.” He looked meaningfully at Geralt. “If it fails completely…”

Geralt knew all too well what would happen if the marking suddenly stopped working. They would rapidly start losing Witchers, and not just to injury. Luckily, he had the solution.

“Lambert,” he moved Jaskier in front of him, “this is Jaskier.”

Any other time Geralt would have expected Lambert to burst out laughing in disbelief but his eyes just turned cold. He roughly shoved Jaskier aside and leaned in close to Geralt. “This is not a laughing matter you piece of shit!” His fingers twisted in Geralt’s shirt. 

With fury, Geralt slapped his hand off his shirt and shoved him away. Briefly checking to make sure Jaskier was alright he advanced on Lambert. After a brief struggle full of shouts of outrage and pain Geralt had Lambert pinned against a tree, his face pressed harshly up against the bark. “You **will** pay him the proper respect or I will **end** you.” Geralt threatened.

“Oh ho ho, got yourself a little girlf-” he was cut off by a light touch on his arm. Jaskier was leaning in close, running his hands up and down Lambert’s arms in inspection. Geralt was about to warn him away, even pinned, Lambert was a wild card, but something had shifted in Lambert’s eyes at the touch. 

Jaskier looked up with a nod of satisfaction. Ignoring Geralt who was currently wrapped around Lambert, Jaskier rested his hand on the nape of Lambert’s neck and lightly pressed their foreheads together. “Your arms are healing well, next time, I would recommend dodging the horns, not skewering yourself on them.” His voice contained traces of amusement and admonishment.

Geralt could feel Lambert’s body go lax at the touch. He gently released his hold but Lambert didn’t move, lost in his moment with Jaskier. Lambert slowly moved his hand up toward Jaskier, lightly curling his fingers in Jaskier’s hair before pressing them more firmly together, his other hand wrapped around the slight waist, keeping Jaskier from moving away. 

Geralt was completely forgotten. Standing to the side, an awkward witness to this intimate moment. Geralt’s hands opened and closed, begging to go pull Lambert off Jaskier and back safe into his arms. But Jaskier looked completely content in Lambert’s embrace, lightly stroking the unsightly scabs running up and down his arms. Before Geralt’s eyes, they began to crust off, leaving new pink skin underneath. Lambert didn’t seem to notice, he continued to stare deep into Jaskier’s eyes, drinking him in. 

When Geralt decided Lambert had had more than enough pampering, he moved to pull Jaskier away and was met with a deep growl. Lambert tucked Jaskier into his side, farthest away from Geralt. Geralt was about to unsheath his blade when Lambert spoke, “I am taking him to Kaer Morhen and you are not going to stop me.”

With surprise Geralt’s hand fell off his blade and a quick glance at Jaskier confirmed he was glaring up at Lambert. “You are welcome to try, with my blessing.” Geralt smirked, excited to see Lambert put back in his place by the small god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some ideas for the future chapters but would love to hear your thoughts if there is anything you would like to see!


	7. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert finds out the truth and Jaskier continues to struggle with his humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Your comments and kudos continue to be an inspiration! <3 Thanks for all the love! :D

Jaskier was upset. The sun’s rays were being chased about by the wind, the mix of hot and cool against his skin had been wonderfully relaxing. The birds’ pleasant song caressed his ears and both his Witcher’s strong heartbeats thumped in tandem to his own. He had been pleasantly comfortable in Lambert’s gentle embrace, soothing away the remaining stubborn damaged skin on his arm, careful not to leave any more scars. He always hated to see divots and knotted scars maring his Witcher’s skin, not when every imperfection felt like a failure on his part. But for now, Lambert was safe in his arms, that is, he was until Jaskier was roughly manhandled to the side. He found himself squashed between the tree and Lambert's massive bulk. The gentle hand that had held him flush against Lambert tightened uncomfortably on his shoulder, each individual finger dug into his tender skin and he was sure he would have very distinct bruises where each of the fingertips lay. He didn’t hold this against Lambert, he had never been liked, even among the Witcher’s, so he didn’t have much experience handling other people.

He was already feeling a bit faint from quick healing and the jerking movement of Lambert pulling him to the side sent his head spinning. His knees wobbled a bit and he leaned a bit harder against the tree at his back, thankful that Geralt was out of sight and couldn’t see his weakened state or his wince against the rough handling. The mother hen would probably try to skin Lambert alive. He schooled his expression and mentally berated his knees until the shaking got under control. Luckily, the press of his body against the tree halted the shivers vibrating up from his knees, so his shoulders were steady underneath Lambert’s firm grip. 

He had just gained control of his faculties when he heard Lambert’s passionate declaration of their return to Kaer Morhen. Great. Just great. His Witcher’s were as unique as snowflakes and the one area in which they agree was the one that threw a cog in his plans. He jerked himself out from under Lambert’s hand and stumbled away a few steps, his weakened knees giving a valiant effort at not giving out completely. He glared back at Lambert for ruining his pleasant day. The birds that had been filling the silence with their melody had grown quiet at the tension in the air. The playful dance of the wind and sun had come to an end and now the wind alone was performing, the sun having retreated backstage behind the clouds. He shivered, wishing that Lambert’s warm arms were still wrapped around him. This was not a conversation he wanted to have twice. He looked to Geralt for help and was disappointed to see an evil sneer painted across his face and a sadistic glint in his eye.

Jaskier sighed and felt a pulsing ache take up residence behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose but the pressure only seemed to intensify the throb. Lambert seemed to have gotten over his surprise at Jaskier’s sudden and forceful rejection and, with the mournful eyes of a shunned dog, was slowly shuffling towards him again. Jaskier watched him approach with a disapproving frown on his face and hand on his hip. When Lambert had inched close enough, his calloused hand reached hopefully out to pull Jaskier close again but Jaskier’s own hand flashed out and caught hold of Lambert’s ear, jerking him down to his level. As his head was forcefully pulled downward, Lambert’s hands flailed wildly in the air behind him. He looked torn, not willing to lay hands on Jaskier but needing to do something about being tugged about by the ear like a mischievous child. Geralt snickered loudly behind them at the ridiculous display. Jaskier ignored him and kept a secure hold on the ear until Lambert’s hands settled down. Jaskier locked eyes with Lambert. 

“No.” Jaskier said firmly before letting go of Lambert’s ear. While Lambert was still stunned, Jaskier brushed the short dark brown hair back from his face and pressed a light kiss against his forehead in apology. In the same motion he stepped away from Lambert and slapped Geralt upside the head, his laughter choked off into a gruff “Hey!”

Without looking back, Jaskier set off at as brisk a pace as he dared away from the two scowling men. He was already behind schedule and he wouldn’t be further impeded by these stubborn Witchers. He could feel Geralt following close behind and after a minute of hesitation Lambert also trailed after. He soon regretted pushing himself so hard after the healing, for some reason he seemed out of breath. He had the appropriate reserves to do the healing so he wasn’t sure why he was still feeling the after effects. They should have long faded by now. He had never before experienced anything but a slight lightheadedness after using his powers and that had only begun after he got his body. His legs gave another unexpected wobble and it tripped him up enough that he stumbled. Before he could hit the ground he felt a warm hand splay over his stomach, stabilizing him. His knees stubbornly refused to cooperate and Geralt ended up lowering him to the ground. The shivers from before were gone and in its place it felt like his body was burning. Sweat dripped down from his forehead into his eyes, the saltiness stung. He could hear Geralt murmuring something in his ear but it seemed far away. All at once everything seemed to snap back into place. His hearing cleared and his body cooled, all issues seemed to bleed away as if they never existed and he felt fine. He looked up at Geralt’s concerned face and gave him a smile, it came much easier now that it didn’t feel like he was going to simultaneously throw up and pass out. 

Another pair of hands wrapped around his waist and he was being hoisted into the air. Unlike Geralt’s uncivilized method of slinging him over his shoulder, Lambert cradled him in his arms. He saw a meaningful gaze pass between Geralt and Lambert before they began walking again. He wanted to protest the coddling but he felt the remnants of a shiver run up his spine and he quietly settled into the firm muscled arms. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Lambert lifted Jaskier out of Geralt’s arms he kept a hold of Jaskier’s hand for another few seconds. He was sure when he had stopped Jaskier from falling flat on his face his body had seemed unnaturally hot but it must have been his imagination. Jaskier’s hand was warm, but no more so than his own. When Jaskier had begun stumbling he didn’t think much of it, Jaskier wasn’t known for being very stable on his feet and he was often tripping over himself. It was when he noticed him listing forward almost drunkenly that Geralt lunged to catch him.

While he detested the sight of Jaskier in Lambert’s arms, he was more concerned about the sudden weakness.

Lambert glanced over at him, and briefly motioned his head back down the path to Kaer Morhen, Geralt just shook his head. While it had been humorous seeing Lambert pulled around by Jaskier like a bear being reprimanded by a little rabbit, he didn’t want to further upset Jaskier and have him run out on them, not when something still seemed to be wrong with the little god.

During their next break Jaskier seemed to be feeling much better. He pranced off with a pot to go find the river. While the image of Jaskier tripping over a rock and falling into the river, gasping as he disappeared beneath the surface, flashed across his mind he quickly dismissed it. They stopped here specifically because the river was sluggish and shallow in this area, making it a popular place to rest and bathe. When Jaskier didn’t return within the expected amount of time Geralt began to worry and left to go and check on Jaskier. He found him crouched by the rivers edge. The pot abandoned in the dirt next to him. His eyes were closed in concentration and he let out a low hum, frowned and then hummed again, this time at a higher pitch. Geralt almost jumped out of his skin when a hand shot out of the river and wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist. Geralt’s quick shift of surprise snapped a twig underneath his boot and Jaskier’s head shot up. 

“Geralt!” he called out. At the sudden noise the watery hand let go of him and retreated underneath the water. Jaskier turned back and watched it go with sadness before climbing back to his feet. Something was clenched in the hand the creature had been grasping.

“What’s that?” Geralt asked Jaskier in suspicion. 

Without hesitation Jaskier happily opened his hand to show Geralt. It was a spiraled shell. 

“I liked the sound of the river, it gurgled and babbled and roared all at once! I tried to replicate the sound but I couldn’t seem to get it right. I didn’t want to leave before capturing the sound so Sashimya gave me the voice of the river so I could take it with me!”

Jaskier held the shell up to Geralt’s ear and he could hear the river’s noise resonating through the shell. Regardless, he hustled Jaskier away from the water's edge and back to the road, not wanting to risk the chance of the creature deciding it wanted to keep Jaskier there permanently. 

When they got back to the camp and Geralt started hitching Roach back up, Lambert looked at their empty hands in suspicion. 

“Where’s the water?” He looked between Geralt’s upset face and Jaskier content smile with confusion. Geralt ignored him and lifted Jaskier up into the saddle, climbing up behind him to hold him in place, before spurring Roach on at a brisk walk. Lambert jogged to catch up and grabbed at Geralt’s foot in the stirrup, “Hey!, I’m talking to you!”

Geralt kicked his hand away and urged Roach on faster. “We are leaving.” His tone brooked no argument but of course Lambert couldn’t let it go at that. He ran out ahead of them and grabbed Roach’s reins, narrowly dodging Roach’s lunging teeth and pulled her to a stop. Geralt braced Jaskier against the abrupt stop, annoyed that Lambert would get in his way. 

Jaskier leaned down, fully relying on Geralt’s arm around his waist to keep him from tumbling from the saddle and ran his fingers through Lambert’s hair. 

“Don’t worry, Sashimya just gave Geralt a bit of a scare.” He said reassuringly. 

“Sashimya?”

“The river god.”

Lambert choked on his next question and Geralt shifted in surprise. “But gods aren’t real!” He protested. 

Jaskier looked a bit startled, like he had forgotten that Lambert didn’t know. He nudged Geralt in the ribs lightly and looked meaningfully over at Lambert. Obviously back to his vow of silence on his true nature.

Geralt sighed. “Lambert, Jaskier is the Witcher god.” He said before kicking Lambert in the face. Lambert let go of Roach in surprise and he urged her into a trot once more leaving a bleeding stunned Lambert in the dirt. Jaskier looked back at him disapprovingly but Geralt couldn’t help the grin that was stuck on his face. 

Lambert didn’t say anything else for the rest of the day, just followed behind them silently, a stricken look on his face. But when they stopped for the night he dutifully helped set up the campsite and get the fire going, still refusing to look at Geralt and Jaskier. 

Jaskier settled down next to the small flames just beginning to catch on the wood, shivering slightly, Geralt started to shrug off his coat to give to Jaskier but Lambert beat him to it. Instead of offering his coat he just settled his bedroll down behind Jaskier, pulling Jaskier back against him and swathing them both in blankets. “I will stay with him tonight, it is too cold for him to sleep on his own.” His voice sounded distant as he refused to turn away from Jaskier while he addressed Geralt. 

At this Jaskier piped up, “That’s not fair, Geralt will get cold then!”

“I’ll be fine.” Geralt said gruffly, not wanting to admit that he had been hoping to spend the night wrapped around Jaskier. He always slept better with Jaskier in his arms. 

“Nonsense.” Jaskier said as he got up out of Lambert’s arms and pulled Geralt’s bed roll over next to Lambert’s. Jaskier himself didn’t have a bedroll but he had spent the last few nights either in a bed or with Geralt so it hadn’t mattered before then. He patted the bedroll expectantly, turning those pleading doe eyes on Geralt. With a sigh Geralt climbed into the bed roll next to Lambert. Jaskier nestled himself between the two bedrolls and while his body was quickly captured back by Lambert and pulled against his chest, his head rested on Geralt’s shoulder and his arms were curled around Geralt’s torso. While him and Lambert spent the first half an hour glaring at each other over Jaskier’s snoring body they soon were lulled into sleep by the warm body squished between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story! Work continues to take its toll so updates will probably be happening on the weekends for the foreseeable future. As always I love to hear your ideas of what you want to see!


	8. Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tests the waters after his first experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I don't know about you all but this summer heat is killing me 0-0. 
> 
> Anyways, I love and appreciate all your kudos and comments, sometimes they are the best part of my week ^-^ Hope you enjoy this next installment.

Geralt woke up, his cheeks wet with the morning dew and stiff with cold where they rested just above the thick blanket he had wrapped tightly around his body. He shuffled within the blanket, trying to pull it over his face without untucking it from around his body. He swore when he jerked too hard and the side of the blanket fluttered up, a rush of biting air invading his bedding and sending a shiver straight up his back. He quickly shoved the side of the blanket back flush with the ground but the damage was done, it was time to get up. With a groan he stretched himself out with the languid laziness of a cat. When he arched his spine to dislodge the damage caused by the hard unforgiving ground, he felt a furnace of heat against his back. Maybe he could stay in bed a bit longer. As he turned towards the heat, he reached out to pull Jaskier closer, except it wasn’t Jaskier. Lambert looked down at him with a sharp grin oozing satisfaction. Geralt jerked his hand back from Lambert’s shoulder as if he had been burned. 

“How forward Geralt, are you always this promiscuous?” His smile sharpened further.

Geralt sputtered in protest but Lambert ignored him. “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself when I’m around, who knows what you’ll do to poor little Jaskier if I leave him alone with you!” Lambert gasped loudly, too over dramatic by far.

While Geralt struggled to disentangle himself from his bundle of blankets Lambert rushed to his feet and bustled over to where Jaskier was crouching by the fire. He draped himself around him and whispered something in his ear. 

Jaskier turned around and gave Geralt a strange look, half parts quizzical and disbelieving. Geralt practically tore the blanket in half with his ferocity to get it off him. Fucking asshole Lambert, putting weird ideas in Jaskier’s head. He stomped over and went to force himself between Jaskier and the taint that was Lambert. But when he reached out for Jaskier he saw Lambert’s grin just widen and Jaskier looked a little uncomfortable. His outstretched hand clenched into a fist and fell back down by his side. Letting loose a fit of unintelligible words he stomped off. Still grumbling, he threw a bucket of water over the fire, kicking at the still hot coals to spread them around. His enthusiastic destruction of the fire left his shoes a bit singed, but the damage to the leather only fueled his anger and his kicking only became more haphazard and he dug his feet even deeper into the coals. He looked up from his tirade to see Lambert cheekily smiling at him from over his shoulder as he led Jaskier into the woods. 

Gerlat abandoned the now mutilated fire and trudged after them, not willing to leave Jaskier alone with him and his poisonous words for even a second. He was a little surprised when Lambert led Jaskier to the river’s edge and then moved away to settle against a nearby tree. Geralt kept his distance. Jaskier seemed to be messing with something in his hands and then rubbing at his face. It almost looked like he was wiping away tears and Geralt crept closer until he too was at the water’s edge. Looking down from above he could see Jaskier’s warped reflection in the river, it wasn’t red and blotchy from tears but seemed to be softer. Jaskier looked up at him and rimmed around the corner of his eyes was black ash. It reminded Geralt of the dark circles that had ringed his eyes just a few days earlier. The black ash had the same effect of contrasting against his brilliant blue eyes but, instead of giving him a tired haggard look, it rounded out his eyes, making him look even more innocent. His lips were a tinge redder, it looked like he had been biting them. A brief glance at Jaskier’s hands unveiled the culprit. One hand smudged with the remains of the black ash he must have gathered from the fire and the other stained red with crushed berries. He looked like a fragile porcelain doll. Geralt didn’t like it. Jaskier was too soft, too breakable as it was. He didn’t need any further reminders of how he didn’t belong among the rough Witcher’s. 

Jaskier dusted his hands off on his pants, and the swipes of black and red joined the blood stains across his knees. Gerlat mentally counted the amount of money he had left in his pouch even though he knew he was woefully short of a new pair of pants. Especially the finery Jaskier gravitated towards. Lambert didn’t question Jaskier’s new makeup routine, instead throwing an arm around his shoulders and escorting him back to the campsite, a ruffled Geralt following closely behind, not sure how he was so effectively replaced and not liking it. 

He had managed to wrangle Jaskier out of Lambert’s arms and get him onto Roach, a small victory, but every time they stopped, Lambert was by Roach’s side to gently lift Jaskier down from the horse and monopolize his time until they moved forward again. He knew Lambert was doing it to rile him up but there was something genuine in his touch. It was like Jaskier was the sun and Lambert a planet, everything he did seemed to center around Jaskier. Even whilst performing other tasks, Lambert was always only a few steps from Jaskier and constantly glancing up to check on him. Jaskier’s touch was like warm broth to a starving man and Lambert always demanded more. Geralt knew how he felt but the way Lambert was acting was shameless. He was sure Jaskier was aware of his seething anger as each time he settled behind Jaskier on Roach, a gentle hand rested on his thigh and soothingly rubbed back and forth as Roach trotted along. 

When they reached the edge of the town they were given separate assignments. Lambert was to go acquire supplies, a large pile of coins was dumped into his hands and he was sent on his way. Geralt’s coin bag clanked pitifully at his side and he now gazed in suspicion at the bag Jaskier carried around. He had heard the coins jangling in there prior but had assumed they were just shoved near the edge of the bag. With the large pile of coins Jaskier had shoved into Lambert’s hands and the continued cheerful clattering the bag still made he was beginning to think the whole bag might be full of them. 

His assignment was simple if a bit mundane. He was to go into the fields and replenish his supplies, he hadn’t even noticed he was running low. When they were dismissed they were given strict instructions for their return. Geralt was to meet him back at the inn within the hour and Lambert was to arrive fifteen minutes later. Neither questioned the strange specificity as they should have ample time to complete their assignments and they both were tasks they had been neglecting. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once his Witcher’s were sufficiently distracted he moved towards the inn. He mused his hair so it lay disheveled across his face and rumpled his clothes a bit more. The blood and ash stains on his pale pants were doing wonders to complete the appearance. He stumbled through the inn doors and collapsed into the nearest seat, elbows hitting the table hard and the thump sounded through the open tavern. He buried his face in his folded arms to hide his eyes as his fingers went to work teasing the edges of his tear ducts until he could feel the salty water well up and begin to spill down his cheeks. It was time to test his experiment in the town prior. 

His first victim was the young barmaid. She lightly tapped him on the shoulder to inquire about his dining choices, not noticing the defeated slump of his shoulders as she was busy swatting away wandering hands from the nearby tables. He made sure to wait until her attention was back on him before slowly raising his eyes from his arms and made a little sniffle. He knew he looked pathetic, the muted ash that stained his skin made the tears sparkle in comparison, and the red on his lips emphasised his pout. It didn’t take much before the barmaid had abandoned her other customers and had him wrapped in her arms, pressed against her ample chest. He let himself collapse in her arms and began sobbing. The other patrons who were just now noticing their drinks running dry were all drawn to the pair in the middle of the room. Some for the need for intoxicating drink and some intoxicated by the sight of a pretty little thing practically begging to be saved. 

He let her soothe him, pretending to get himself back under control and he shrank back shyly from all the curious gazes. In between hiccups he weaved his story. “It was my sister’s 8th birthday, she was so excited because she would finally be allowed to come out into the fields with us.” He let his eyes turn wistful before darkening them. “But just before we settled to sleep a deep growl sounded just behind the barn. Da tried to hustle us down into the basement but we were too late. Whatever it was tore the door right off its hinges and slashed through Da and Ma. It hadn’t noticed me yet so I crept out the back door. It wasn’t until I reached the road that I heard the screams.” He paused in his story, hand clenched over his mouth like he was going to be sick. “I thought little Nina died, you see Ma was carrying her as we fled to the basement. I should have checked I just-. I ran back as fast as I could but everything was so jumbled and something struck me and everything went black. When I woke up the creature and my sister were gone.”

He once more collapsed into sobs. Fingers clutching at the arms of the supple barmaid. 

“I-I don’t even know if she is still alive” he choked out. “But, even if she is, I could never find her, I’m no tracker and this thing had wings!” He leaned back in his seat. “I’ll never see her again.” He said despondent. 

A rough hand clasped his shoulder. “Hey lad, it’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

Another gently rested on his back, “Yeah, I even heard a Witcher was ‘round these parts, cleaned up a right mess at someone’s farm a few days back.”

Bingo. 

He scoffed. “Yeah right, Witchers are just fairy tales.”

“No!” the man insisted. “They’re real! My cousin saw him with his own eyes, massive he was. Bet he could take down your creature with one arm tied behind his back.”

The whole inn chorused their agreement, trying to comfort the pitiful man in front of them.

The door squeaked open and everyone suddenly went silent. Loud thumping bootsteps echoed across the wooden floor and Jaskier was careful to keep his eyes down and a despondent look on his face. Geralt knelt down at his feet and reached out to turn his face towards him. When he saw the tear stained mess his gaze turned stony and Jaskier could see the muscles bunch in his arms. He was about to go on a warpath.

“A Witcher,” Jaskier breathed, sure his voice would be heard across the entire inn. It was so quiet the creaks in the walls could be heard as the wood expanded in the afternoon sun. 

“Please, please will you help me?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt just cocked his head in confusion. “Of course I’ll help you.”

Jaskier put on a look of unadulterated joy before he let it slip from his face. He turned away from Geralt. “I don’t have any money.”

Geralt looked even more confused, every soul in the inn was gathered in a semi circle around them, hanging on every single word. 

“I don’t want your money.” He stated and Jaskier could feel the soft tendrils of confusion wrap around him. Luckily, Geralt was playing his part perfectly. There was a round of sighs and some people grinned and clapped each other on the shoulders. 

There was a loud clattering as the door slammed open and a drunken Lambert stumbled into the room. Jaskier knew Lambert would soon tire of shopping and find the nearest pub to wile away the rest of the time until the designated meet up. 

As he jerkily wobbled around the room, the situation turned tense once more. A Witcher was scary, an intoxicated Witcher was terrifying. But Jaskier knew when Lambert was drunk he was mostly harmless and, more importantly, was loose with the money in his pocket. 

“W’ts with the s’br mood, you need to li’en up.” He poked one of the villagers in the chest and they squeaked in fright. He barreled his way over to the bar and poured a mountain of coins atop the counter. “We n’d drinks for everyone!” When he too collapsed into a seat at Jaskier’s table the mood relaxed again. When everyone had a free drink in their hand it turned downright jovial. 

Jaskier could practically see the wheels turning in their heads. It was perfect. The rumors from the previous village had spread just like he had hoped. And on top of that, Geralt confirmed the new idea of a Witcher in their head with his selfless promise of help. Then, to top it off, Lambert topped off their good mood with free booze. People would practically worship anyone with free alcohol. 

Jaskier didn’t linger, and soon hustled Geralt and Lambert out of the inn. He could feel the hungry gazes of both the women and the men on him after his problem had been resolved. It was in poor taste to try to bed someone who was distraught. But the villagers felt like they had some hand in his salvation and they were ready to collect. When he felt the brush of a hand across the back of his neck he practically shoved Geralt and Lambert out the door before they could notice. When he turned back towards the two Witchers, a wide grin on his face, he was concerned to see mortification reflected back at him. 

Both Witcher’s faces were frozen in horror. He could feel a tear leak down from his eye and he frowned in confusion. He wiped it away and looked down to see fresh blood was streaked across his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter didn't contain much fluff, more fluff to come in the future :)


	9. Heaven's Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier figures out what is wrong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! PLOT PLOT EVERYWHERE, I AM DROWNING IN PLOT. I guess this is a warning that there is much plot in this chapter. Hopefully to be balanced by a lot of fluff in the subsequent chapter :) As always you all are lovely and I love your comments!

There are dreams, and then there are nightmares. Geralt never bothered much with either, too busy dealing with reality to spend time on useless thoughts. He had been told on more than one occasion that his life was like a living nightmare. Seeking out the most deformed and wretched creatures and brutally slaughtering them. Doomed to a lonely life, fraught with danger until the day he died, which in all honesty would most likely be sooner rather than later. But he preferred this to dreams. Dreams were more dangerous by far. Nightmares showed you the worst that could happen, they jaded you, toughed your resolve. Dreams show you what you want but cannot have, a dream leaves you weak, wanting, shattered. A nightmare will keep you wary, a dream will break you.

Geralt had seen the toughest men, the most steadfast women, left desolated by a dream. So he would take his life of nightmares thank you very much. 

At least, that is what he thought before today. When Jaskier turned around, his pleasant grin turned garish by the twin trails of blood leaking down each cheek, it was like something out of a nightmare. But this was like no nightmare Geralt had ever experienced. He had seen more garish sights, but none struck fear into his heart like this one did.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier stared down in confusion at the blood streaked across his hand. When he blinked his vision went red and hazy for a second before clearing. He had seen enough horrific deaths in his line of work to know blood dripping from any orifice was bad news. But blood dripping from the eyes was damning evidence of deep set internal damage. Among the church, it is regarded as heaven’s lament. Although not a common occurrence among the priesthood, there were histories of devout followers who channeled too much of their patron deity’s power and the strain ripped them apart. They could be found in their last seconds on their knees, thanking their god profusely for sharing their divinity, the bloody tears in direct contrast to the wonder on their faces. Their corpses would be left in the place they died, still kneeling in supplication to their god. A shrine of stone was built around their body to pay homage to their devotion. These sites were often the destination of pilgrimages, as the clergy believed a body touched by the hand of divinity could subsequently bestow such gifts on the truly faithful. It was disgusting. The mortal bodies were only overwhelmed by divinity through the negligence of their gods. More often than not it was the byproduct of a god with too many followers and a severe lack of discipline. A god must be discerning in granting prayers as mortal eyes are often too big with greed and their ears deaf to the warnings. The shrines the mortals built were a source of shame to the gods, a reminder of the frailty of their subjects.

Jaskier was concerned at this sudden sign of mortality. He felt a tug at the back of his neck and suddenly he was staring down at his body from above. But unlike the other times he had exited his body, it didn’t collapse, it just sat there staring at the bloody hand as if frozen. Jaskier tried to turn around but the kidnapper had a strong hold on the scruff of his neck. 

He struggled against the strong grasp. “Let go! I can’t just leave like this, what about Geralt and Lambert?! They need me.”

He could feel the presence brush against his and a smooth toneless voice spoke near his ear. “We need to talk Jaskier.”

Simeon let go of the back of his neck and turned around, obviously expecting Jaskier to follow him. With one last yearning glance towards the Witchers he sighed and followed the god of Order. Walking with Simeon had always been one of his favorite pastimes. He neither strolled nor rushed. While silence was never something Jaskier had ever been comfortable with, the quiet peace that surrounded Simeon was soothing. While that might have been the case in the past, that same quiet was now irritating him to no end. He needed to get back to his Witchers but forcing Simeon to do anything outside his own pace was impossible so he just continued to walk beside him, waiting for Simeon to be ready to talk. Simeon’s presence was calming but it was also blinding. Time seemed to fall away in his presence and all distractions were smoothed away. Once he entered Simeon’s sphere of influence he lost track of all time and could no longer feel his Witcher’s. Hours, or maybe days past as they walked in silence side by side. When Simeon finally spoke the sudden breach in the silence was jarring. 

“What do you think you were doing?” Simeon asked. Although the words themselves were biting, they were delivered in a calm even tone. Even so, Jaskier could hear the tenseness in his voice that belayed his anger. 

“I thought-”

“No, you didn’t think.” Simeon cut him off. “You never think. What did you expect was going to happen? You flood a mortal body with power and eventually it is going to wear down.”

“But I was supposed to have at least a year! I don’t understand what happened.” Jaskier protested.

“Yes, you would have had a year if you had kept within the limits of what the body could handle. But the power I sensed flooding off your meat suit was gross in its excess. Why would you need that much power when you were posing as a human? Surely your Witcher companions couldn’t have needed that much help?” Simeon cocked his head to the side as if he was reconsidering that statement. Jaskier had to admit his Witchers could get themselves into a lot of trouble quite quickly. 

Jaskier hung his head. “Please Simeon. I wasn’t thinking, I just had to feel them, to know they were okay. I know I messed up but Isn’t there anything I can do?” Jaskier pleaded. 

Simeon stared at him for a long time. His expression didn’t change but Jaskier could feel him give in. He was older than any of the other gods, when asked why he was created he only ever gave the same cryptic answer “It was and so I was.” Simeon less stored power and more directed it. It constantly flowed through him, never stopping. He just helped nudge it towards chaos. Jaskier didn’t know why Simeon bothered with him. At times Jaskier thought it might be the comical balance of him and the Witchers that intrigued the god of Order. But whatever it was, Simeon had been there for Jaskier since the beginning.

“My power is not compatible with your power, at most I can stave off the side effects and give you maybe a few more weeks. The body is shot, you need to replace it.” At this Simeon gave Jaskier a pitying look. He knew it took Jaskier the better part of a decade to gather enough power the first time around. But this was something he couldn’t help with. The body must be built of Jaskier’s own power or it would reject him outright. There are reasons that possessions are horror stories. Just as a body instigates a fever to kill a disease, it literally tears itself apart trying to expel the foreign deity.

Jaskier went quiet, a few weeks. It wasn’t enough for his whole plan, not even for a part of it. And the thought of leaving without seeing all of his Witcher’s hurt him more than he could bear. But if he only had a few weeks left, then he wanted to spend it with his Witchers. He needed to let the rumors morph and exaggerate anyway. Too many different stories only served to confuse the truth. Better two or three strong rumors grow and expand rather than a dozen. That was where the Witchers got into trouble in the first place. A dozen Witchers fighting a dozen different monsters, each more horrifying than the next, made good bedtime stories. But, with so many different tales flying around, the Witcher heroically defeating the flesh eating monster or triumphing over a griffin easily became the Witcher slaughtering a griffin but leaving behind a slew of victims to satiate his hunger for flesh. 

He had planned to make a hero out of Geralt. The gorgeous Witcher with a conscience would have been the perfect poster boy for the Witchers. Once people were more at ease with the word Witcher in general and willing to listen, it would have been so easy to compose a few songs, write a few epics starring the white haired man and let the people fall in love with him the same way he did. 

Maybe he could still use Geralt if the Witcher survived long enough while Jaskier was trying to cobble together another body. 

With a sad smile, Jaskier thanked Simeon and trudged back to where he left his body and the Witchers. Troubled over this new twist of fate. When he reached the stretch outside the inn, they were all gone. Geralt, Lambert and his body. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
Geralt knew Jaskier was gone. The light had once again faded from the body and, while it hadn’t collapsed like before, what was left behind was not Jaskier but a husk. Lambert, who had yet to experience the odd phenomenon, was over at Jaskier’s side in an instant, gently wiping the blood from his cheeks and trying to coax a reaction from the hollow form. When Jaskier continued to stare lifelessly at the ground where his hand had been, Lambert looked over his shoulder worryingly at Geralt. In his eyes a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered. Geralt hesitated to call upon Jaskier with the spell, it was too final. What if he didn’t come back this time? When Geralt didn’t give him an answer, Lambert just smoothed Jaskiers arms down by his side and scooped him up into his arms. He carefully tucked Jaskier’s head securely beneath his chin so that it wouldn’t be jostled as they moved. 

“You’ve had your fun with him. This has gone too far. I am going to Kaer Morhen.” Lambert stated resolutely. With Jaskier secure in his embrace he headed in the direction of the forest once more. Geralt leapt onto Roach’s back and rode up alongside Lambert. Without a word they carried what used to be Jaskier down the long path to Kaer Morhen. With an unspoken agreement, when Lambert’s strength began to flag he would transfer Jaskier into Geralt’s waiting arms without complaint. Necessity and fear having bridged the gap between them. They were wolves. Capable of surviving on their own but at heart a pack. With this arrangement they were able to make far better time than when they had been traveling previously, quickly retracing the ground they had covered prior. 

With every day that passed they both became more anxious and tense. Jaskier never changed, his cheeks never hollowed from lack of food and his skin never lost its healthy blush. But even Lambert could tell that nobody was home. Every night he could hear Lambert pleading quietly for Jaskier to return, but there was no answer. Geralt hoped selfishly that Jaskier had just tired of Lambert’s company and would come if he called. But on the second day he too gave in and whispered his own prayer with no answer. After that he kept his tattoo securely hidden by his boots, refusing to even look at it. Lambert’s pleas became more pitiful before they stopped altogether. 

Their fervent journey lost some of its luster when Jaskier refused to awaken. When they finally made it to Kaer Morhen’s walls they both looked drawn. They had stopped eating and sleeping, food tasted like ash in their mouths and they couldn’t sleep for fear Jaskier would awaken during the night and need their help. 

They reached the entryway, Jaskier curled up against Geralt’s chest, his face hidden by a blanket tossed over Geralt’s shoulders. A large Witcher stood guard in front of the door. His massive bulk blocked the pathway and he stood stock still like a barricade. He was fairly young for a Witcher and didn’t seem to be familiar with Geralt or Lambert. He glared at them in suspicion, his hand making a sweeping motion towards their feet before crossing his arms back over his chest and looking at them expectantly.

Geralt and Lambert stepped forward and recited the required verse in tandem. 

“Delicate flower, trembling in the wind, bear my pain as I am no longer able.  
The road is long and I am weary, take the suffering I can not carry.  
When strength fails and the wounds are deep, bless us with your healing sleep  
A mother’s touch we have misplaced, your offered love we have embraced.”

Jaskier shifted in Geralt’s embrace, cutting them both off. The blanket covering his face slipped off and he looked into the wide eyes of the Witcher guarding the door. With all eyes on him he finished the verse. “Delicate flower, trembling in the wind, without your touch our path is fatal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry I have a plan to resolve this story happily! But if you have suggestions for what you would like to see let me know and I'll try to sneak them in :D


	10. Ascended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's body fails and Geralt takes action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello! So much plotty plot plot happening in this chapter. Sorry if it feels super plot driven with not really any fluff. I didn't really have the emotional capacity for fluff this week.

There was silence when Geralt collapsed to the floor with Jaskier in his arms. The kind of silence that hurt. The birds still twittered and the wind still spoke its secrets to the trees, making the leaves chatter to each other. But where the sounds of the world had previously felt like enough, they now seemed wholly inadequate. Jaskier’s few words brightened his world and in their wake everything else fell short. 

Almost afraid that he’d dreamt Jaskier’s return, as he had every night since Jaskier left, he reached out tentatively and swept the hair aside that had fallen over his face, revealing those brilliant crystilanne eyes. Those eyes he thought he would never see again. His arms caged around Jaskier, like he could keep Jaskier’s soul from leaving again if he held him tight enough. His fingers clutched at the rough fabric of the new clothes Lambert had bought in the previous town, using his grip to bring Jaskier even closer. He breathed in deeply, Jaskier smelled of light, of hope. He was back and this time, Geralt promised himself, he would not let him leave again.

When a hand rested on his shoulder he turned around and gnashed his teeth in a feral growl, pulling Jaskier even closer to his chest. He knew he must be smothering him but the body in his arms was pliant, letting Geralt have this. The hand belonged to Lambert, who stared down at him, tentative hope in his eyes. He didn’t flinch at Geralt’s threatening rumble and just knelt down beside them.

“Jaskier?” He questioned, his voice sounded blank. Geralt could speculate why. Jaskier hadn’t answered them for days. Lambert was trying to protect himself in case he was rejected again. The last few days had built a sort of camaraderie between them, at least where Jaskier was concerned. With a brief glance to make sure the unknown Witcher was keeping his distance, he relaxed his grip on Jaskier just enough for Jaskier’s head to pop up over his shoulder. Jaskier’s tostled hair tickled the side of his neck and he could feel the cheek pressed against his twitch up as he smiled at Lambert.

There was a light snapping as a twig was crushed underfoot. He heard the scuff in the dirt as Lambert quickly pivoted. “You, yeah you, you take one step closer and rip your throat out.” Lambert threatened the other Witcher who had been creeping closer. Lambert unsheathed his blade. Geralt quickly rolled to the side into a crouch, Jaskier trapped safely beneath him. Lambert had the young Witcher up against the wall by his neck, the length of his sword cutting into the flesh beneath his eye. Gerallt glanced down at Jaskier, worried that he might dash in to try and save the young Witcher, but Jaskier didn’t seem concerned with the scene in front of him. He lay there on the ground, staring up at Geralt like he was trying to memorize his face, his fingers were curled lightly in Geralt’s sleeves.

“Wait a second.” Lambert said. “You aren’t a Witcher, what are you doing here you little rat!” Just as he was about to drive his sword through the young man the door to the keep slammed open and a real Witcher burst out and grabbed at the arm holding the sword, yanking Lambert off the man. 

“Get off him Lambert, you fucking fool. Think before you stab someone.” Letho shoved Lambert further back. “Leo may not bear the mutations but he is a Witcher all the same.” He took a closer look at Lambert’s feral expression. “I know it’s in your nature to be a complete cad but what has you all riled up? We have bigger problems than your imagined slights.” Lambert sheepishly glanced to the side and Letho followed his gaze to Geralt warily standing at the edge of the woods, having scoped Jaskier up off the ground and back into his arms when Letho had joined the fray.

He stepped closer and froze when he caught Jaskier’s eyes. “Jaskier…?” He questioned. 

Jaskier just grinned at him “Hi Letho, I see you are as big and intimidating as always.”

“Jaskier!” Letho’s stone cold face crumbled into something resembling a smile as he strode over to the two. Geralt took a couple steps back, mostly in confusion. 

“You...know each other?” Geralt said, wounded for some inexplicable reason. 

Letho barely spared him a sideways glance. “Jaskier has had to drag me from death’s embrace too many times to count. Normally I would say he dragged me kicking and screaming but if I remember correctly, he was doing most of the kicking and screaming.”

Jaskier looked a bit embarrassed. “If you would stop getting stabbed and learn to dodge a little I might not have to put in as much effort into keeping death at bay.” He said.

“Ah but then I wouldn’t get to see your beaut-” He paused. “I’m not dying am I?” He glanced around before down at himself, patting down his torso looking for hidden wounds. He ran his eyes over Lambert and Geralt bodies as well, looking for any mortal wounds. Satisfied that none of them were fatally gored he started to casually move towards the stables. 

“Well if Jaskier is here I guess that solves our problems. I’m going to head out, the world is too dangerous to leave it devoid of Witchers for too long.” He motioned in farewell to Jaskier. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in a couple of weeks.”

As he walked past, Geralt felt Jaskier shuffle a bit in order to free an arm, he grasped at Letho’s hand and pulled him to a stop. 

“Wouldn’t you stick around for a while?” He asked.

Letho’s eyes softened and his immovable face once again twisted. Any expression other than a scowl looked painful on his face but Geralt was pretty sure this one was supposed to be love. He curled his fingers around Jaskier’s outstretched hand, raising it up until his forehead was pressed against it in supplication. 

“Of course little flower, I will stay here for you.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Satisfied that Letho was not going to leave him yet, he turned back into Geralt’s chest, exhausted from the past few days. He could already feel Simeon’s blessing seeping into his body, he hadn’t realized how far his body had degraded until he felt the balancing touch of Simeon’s power. Before, he had felt restless. Like when you sit on a wooden chair for too long and you squirm back and forth for hours, unable to find a comfortable position. The itch to jump up and shout in frustration was almost overwhelming. Returning to his blessed body had felt like collapsing into a bed of down pillows. Comfortable and soothing. He could almost pretend like everything was fine. But everything was not fine.

Geralt carried him into Kaer Morhen and moved to set him down in a chair close to the cooking pit where a roaring fire was blazing, but he wasn’t ready to leave the comforting embrace of the Witcher. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and buried his head into the crook where the neck met the shoulder. He could feel Geralt hesitant then turn around and take the seat himself. He settled his arms comfortably around Jaskier, holding him as easily as he would a child. Jaskier sat there for the remainder of the night, listening to the low murmurs of his Witchers. 

As the night wore on Jaskier could feel the exhaustion in the Witchers around him but none of them retired for the night. It was a bit perplexing. He moved to get up out of Geralt’s lap and all eyes moved with him. He grabbed a set of spare blankets and set them up close to the fire. There were plenty of spare rooms but all the beds were sized for a single man and Jaskier didn’t feel like being alone tonight. As expected, Geralt quickly followed suit and set his pile almost on top of Jaskier’s. Lambert was not far behind dumping his on the other side. To his surprise, Letho also grabbed a set of blankets rather than taking one of the rooms and set his bedding up at Jaskier’s feet, between him and the front door. They all settled in for the night with the exception of Leo, who still sat awkwardly in his seat. He was not one of his own so Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care where he spent the night, but Letho had vouched for him. He was about to gesture him over to the pile of blankets when Leo stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, towards the spare bedrooms. 

This same process was repeated as more and more Witchers arrived at Kaer Morhen, the days were spent with Jaskier following his Witchers around while they performed their tasks, showering them with love and praise, Geralt his constant shadow. In the evenings they would gather around while the meat sizzled over the fire. Jaskier had taken to regaling his Witchers with the exploits of their predecessors, weaving tales of triumph, sorrow and loss. These nightly stories brought a camaraderie to Kaer Morhen that had not ever been there before. While Witchers were a group bound with a singular goal, hearing their history gave them a sense of purpose that stretched past the bounds of time. Their work became a calling. The only outcast in the group was Leo, as the Witchers swapped stories and squabbled over time with Jaskier, Leo had been spending more and more time in his room or in the woods. Some nights he would not even join the group for dinner, taking his share with him into his room. 

All of the other rooms remained unused. The Witchers had taken to camping out in the hall to be closer to Jaskier. There seemed to be a sense of hierarchy that had formed among the Witchers. Geralt was the unspoken leader when it came to Jaskier. He slept at his right hand and never strayed too far during the daytime. Lambert took his left and, to Jaskier’s astonishment, had taken to dealing with the other Witchers requests on Jaskier’s time. Letho slept at his feet, and always seemed to be lurking around nearby, his watchful gaze dissuaded the other Witchers from getting too enthusiastic in their handling of Jaskier. 

The only challenge to this hierarchy was when Eskel arrived. Like all of the other Witchers, Eskel was fascinated to meet Jaskier and, as was the standing unspoken agreement, was allowed Jaskier’s full attention for the night. As the fire began to die down, Geralt silently appeared at Jaskier's side and cleared his throat. Ever since Jaskier had awoken, Geralt had become even more coddling and apparently it was his bedtime. He hadn’t told Geralt about his impending departure yet and the guilt he held about keeping it a secret led him to give into Geralt’s ridiculous mothering more often than not. He began to stand up when Eskel’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“Wait, we weren’t done talking yet.” Eskel said politely. 

Geralt looked at him in bewilderment, not used to being challenged when it came to Jaskier’s care. “It is late, _we_ should be getting to bed.” Geralt placed his hand possessively on Jaskier’s other shoulder, making it clear that they would be going to bed together. 

“Would it not be simple enough to move his sleeping gear over here and _we_ can go to bed when we feel tired?” Eskel said through his teeth, moving his hand from Jaskier’s shoulder to the back of his neck, the hold blatantly claiming Eskel’s ownership. Jaskier could almost see the red that slipped over Geralt’s eyes and he really didn’t want to have to try to close any fatal wounds with his body as damaged as it was, it was taking all he had just to keep it from falling apart. He slipped out of Eskel’s hold and wrapped himself around Geralt, letting his touch soothe the raging beast within. He turned his head towards Eskel and let out a light laugh. 

“Sorry, I don’t think it would be possible to separate out my bedding at this point, we might end up accidentally stealing some of Geralt’s. We’ll have to continue this in the morning.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and began pulling him towards the large pile of bedding that was already lumpy with the bodies of Witchers who had retired for the night. Jaskier glanced behind and saw Letho make a beeline for Eskel, clearly going to impart some wisdom about how things worked around here. As they reached the edge of the pile of Witchers Jaskier hesitated, instead pulling Geralt into one of the abandoned rooms and closing the door. Geralt followed without complaint and calmly waited while Jaskier figited, trying to find the right way to break the news. 

“Geralt...I can’t stay here.” He started. 

“Then I’ll go with you, when do we leave?” Geralt replied without hesitation. 

“No, I can’t stay _here_.” He gestured all around him with both hands. “This was never supposed to be permanent and my time is coming to an end.” He reached forward and clasped Geralt’s cheeks with both hands, intently looking into his eyes. “I don’t want - I could never want to leave you, but mortal bodies were never meant to contain gods, and this one is almost spent.”

Geralt’s eyes shuttered and he brushed Jaskier’s hands away from his face so he could look away. Jaskier could feel the turmoil swirling around in Geralt, pain, fear, anger, sadness, denial.

Geralt turned and left without another word, the door swung back shut behind him leaving Jaskier alone in the room. Not ready to face the other Witchers, Jaskier sat down on the dusty bed and wondered if telling Geralt had been the right thing to do. The door reopened and he glanced up expecting to see a Witcher and was confronted with Leo. The young man was glaring at the floor, jaw clenched tight. Jaskier looked around in confusion, sure that he hadn’t chosen Leo’s room to pull Geralt into.

Leo walked forward a few steps before lifting his gaze to Jaskier. It was full of poisonous hatred. “What sort of spell have you cast over them you witch.” he hissed. 

Jaskier began to feel a trickle of fear at being trapped in the room with the volatile man. A quick glance at the door confirmed that Leo had chained the door shut when he had entered. While it was easy enough to unlock, those few seconds would be fatal with an angry almost Witcher at his back. Leo might not have gotten the mutations but he had been trained as a Witcher and Jaskier still wasn’t fully comfortable in his frail body. 

“I think you are mistaken, I am no wi-”

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up.” Leo threatened. “I won’t let you cast your spell on me.”

He pulled out his sword from its sheath. “I might not be a real Witcher, but I know how to slay a monster.”

Jaskier scrambled to the far side of the bed but he wasn’t fast enough and felt a wet hotness at his back. He knew that the already failing body couldn’t recover from the sword he could see sticking out of his chest. He let it slip away and found Geralt hidden beneath a staircase gasping, heaving for breath as if his lungs sat heavy as a rock within his chest. Jaskier settled around him and at first Geralt’s expression calmed, before it went horrified as he realized what the presence meant. He jumped up and ran to the room he had left Jaskier’s body in. Upon finding the door locked he lunged against the door until the frame splintered and the wood itself came apart. Jaskier watched Geralt find Leo kneeling in the husk’s blood laughing quietly to himself. 

Leo looked up at Geralt with his crazed eyes. “I fixed it, you are free.”

Jaskier left the room, not wanting to see Geralt rip the boy apart. While his Witcher’s lives were violent and bloody he never had the stomach for it. He waited on the roof, watching the sun’s last rays shoot over the hills before disappearing completely. That’s when the wailing began. He stood up and sunk into a deep meditation. He had been soaking up the power from the constant attention of his Witchers in the past few weeks, hoping to get a jump start on the replacement body. But with this rapid change in plans his Witchers needed it more. He broke himself apart and settled over Kaer Morhen, seeping into the very fabric of the structure and into each of his Witchers. Five days he spent like that, until every Witcher knew in their bones that although he was gone, he hadn’t left them, not really. All except one. Geralt refused the comfort, actively fought against it. Jaskier stayed even after his power stores ran out, pulling strength out of his very being. Eventually that dried up too and he had to leave. Using himself as a power source was dangerous and he could feel his very self starting to break apart. He needed to return home to mend. He did so reluctantly, leaving Geralt still broken was unthinkable but he didn’t have a choice. He was empty and had nothing left to give. 

He spent his days in recovery telling stories of his time in the mortal world. Most of the gods had never taken a body, never seen the point in limiting themselves like that. But they were curious all the same. It was months before Jaskier was rejuvenated enough to check up on his Witchers.

He could still feel his Witchers gathered at Kaer Morhen, but when he alighted in the main hall, none of them were there. He sunk beneath the surface into the basement and was taken aback by what he saw. The basement had been cleared out and the stone floor had been polished until it gleamed. The shining dark floor reflected the ceiling where thousands of flowers had been carved in intricate patterns across the wood. In the center of the room was a large altar with a vase carved out of pure white stone. A stone wolf curled around the base. And a large glass flower rested inside. All of the Witchers knelt in supplication within the room. When the power of their plea hit him his core shattered and the energy surged around him, seeping into him. He could feel the very structure of his form change, his ties to both earth and heaven solidified and his skin crackled with power. With a thought he granted their prayers, his form solidified and he appeared as if out of thin air on the altar in front of his Witchers, no longer needing the guise of a mortal body to take corporal form. He had ascended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am thinking maybe one more chapter, or maybe a long epilogue. What do you guys think? Any final requests?


	11. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simeon helps the clueless Witchers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I had some requests for some angst so here it is! Hope you enjoy it :)

The words ricocheted around in his head. Jaskier was leaving. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think, like the words had physically damaged his mind. Looking at Jaskier’s pleading eyes hurt and he pulled away, stumbling out into the hallway. Jaskier was leaving. The hallway seemed too small, he couldn’t breath. The rakish laughter that reverberated from the Hall itched across his skin, driving his anxiety even higher. Jaskier was leaving. He lurched away from the noise and found himself leaning against the staircase, trying to catch his breath. Jaskier was leaving. He had felt this way before, he had been struck hard in the chest and no matter what he had done the air had danced just out of reach. He could feel it brushing against his lips, teasing him. This felt different somehow. This time it was his body that betrayed him, actively rejecting any air that tried to enter. It didn’t matter. Jaskier was leaving. Geralt didn’t feel his knees hit the floor. Jaskier was leavingLeavingLEAVINGLEAVINGLEAVING. He heard a soft keening noise, vaguely recognizing that it was coming from him. 

Calm. Warmth flooded through him, the anxiety was driven from his mind and, for the first time since he left the room, his mind cleared. He basked in Jaskiers presence. Something nudged at the edge of his mind, telling him that something about this was wrong. He pushed it away, needing this, but it came back, stronger this time. Jaskier shouldn’t be here, he should be… A lump formed in his throat and a pit in his stomach. He stumbled to his feet, sprinting towards the room he left Jaskier in, he tore at the handle but wouldn’t budge. In a blind panic he slammed his shoulder against the door. He tried to shout out to Jaskier but the lump in his throat mangled the cry and it came out as a broken rasp. He slammed into the door with greater force and the wood cried out in protest, small pieces splintering off with the force of the assault. He rushed it once more and broke right through the center, sharp splinters slicing through his skin.

The first thing he saw was the blood, spread copiously across the floor, it pooled around Leo who was collapsed in the center of it. Instinctively he checked Leo’s wrists, knowing the state of mind the young man had been in of late but they were unblemished. The puddle of blood on the floor was growing larger, seeping into the grooves of the wooden floor and inching across to the room. He followed the movement back to the source, a dark shape on the bed. 

“I fixed it, you are free” 

He tore his eyes away from the limp form on the bed and latched onto Leo’s crazed eyes. He knew who the lifeless form was, even without the vibrant clothing that was so out of place at Kaer Morhen. Leo had taken Jaskier from him and he was going to pay. He was on Leo before the man could even raise his sword. Geralt didn’t bother drawing his own weapon, Leo had been trained by the Witchers but without the mutations he was too slow, too weak, and Geralt was going to rip him apart. He mindlessly beat Leo, long past when Leo had stopped fighting back, long past when Leo was recognizable. When his hands went numb he pulled out his sword and hacked at Leo, between stabs pleading him to bring Jaskier back. When his cramping hands could no longer grip the sword and it clattered to the floor he moved to what used to be Jaskier on the bed. He gathered him up in his arms and gently stroked his cheek. 

“Wake up. Just like before, you always wake up.” He pleaded. When Jaskier remained limp in his arms he grabbed Jaskier’s hand and pressed it over the gaping wound in his stomach. “Heal it, please, I know you can. Just like your hand. Heal it and come back to me.” His last word broke. He knew Jaskier was gone, his hand was cold and stiff in his grip. He let Jaskier’s hand slip away and fall limply back to the bed. He pulled Jaskier close and mourned. 

When his emotions had completely bled out and he was as numb as his hands he stood with Jaskier cradled in his arms and left the room. He walked through the hallway, deaf to the questions from the other Witchers about the trail of blood he left behind him. He almost felt something when Lambert grabbed onto his arm and stopped him, when Lambert saw what he carried in his arms his face went white and he stumbled back. 

“No. No it can’t be.” Lambert protested. 

Geralt continued forward, ignoring the other Witchers wails as they caught glimpses of Jaskier’s blood streaked face. He continued moving long past when the light left the sky. He finally collapsed to the ground in a field of yellow flowers and began digging. When he returned to Kaer Morhen his nails were broken and the stains of blood were now mostly covered with dirt. 

Jaskier had settled over Kaer Morhen, but while the other Withers drew comfort from Jaskier’s presence it just made Geralt feel sick. He had left Jaskier alone, he was too weak to protect him. Jaskier was gone because of him. He didn’t deserve Jaskier’s love, no matter how willing he was to give it. In those 5 days Geralt spiraled deeper and deeper into depression. When Jaskier disappeared it became unbearable. Everything about Kaer Morhen reminded him of Jaskier. He packed up and was gone the morning after Jaskier had left. He wasn’t sure where he was going, just that he had to get away. He picked a random direction and set off, walking through the day and night. When he tired of running into random travelers along the road he took to the mountains, hoping to find some peace.

Nestled in the tops of the mountains he found a golden building, shimmering in the rising sunlight. It had pillars on either side that reached heavenward, the spiraled grooves running up the pillars caught the shadows, making them alternate between gold and black. There was a robed man standing alongside the building who rushed forward to greet him warmly, pulling him into a hug. 

“Please please come in, we have been expecting you.” He said, pulling Geralt along behind him. 

“Expecting me?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes, yes, we were informed of your arrival a few days ago.”

Geralt tried to get more information from the robed man but he just smiled and promised answers later. He was brought to a small room in the temple with a large bathtub full of steaming water. He sunk into the water and felt the clotted dirt and blood soak off his skin, his muscles that had been tense for days slowly unknotted and by the time the water began to cool he felt more like himself. To his surprise they led him to another room with another bath, this one had leaves and plants floating on the surface. He looked at the waterlogged leaves with suspicion. 

The priestess noticed his hesitation. “You must be purified before you can enter the hall of worship.” He sunk into the second bath and this one was even hotter than the first. The thick sweet scent that rose from the water flooded the room. He was left alone in the room with the instruction to “ establish balance within himself” whatever that meant. He sat in the perfumed room, trying not to think at all. When this bath cooled as well he begrudgingly pulled himself from the water, finding a set of robes layed out in place of where he had left his clothes. He donned the golden cloth and wandered into the hallway. Two more priests waited just outside the room. They led him silently to a third room with a small plate of fruit on the table. 

“Eat and we will take you to Kazir.” They again left him alone. He picked at the fruit, he hadn’t had much of an appetite the last few days but managed to swallow a few berries before he went in search of the priests. Once again he found them right outside the room. To his displeasure they noticed the mostly full plate and refused to take him anywhere. “Eat and we will take you to Kazir.” They repeated once again before leaving him alone once more. Frustrated he quickly cleared the plate. They led him down a long hallway to a massive room that must have taken up ⅔ of the entire temple. It was empty except for a large statue of a man with his arms out, bones scattered in one hand and bright green moss growing on the other. A robed man knelt at the base of the giant stone structure. 

Geralt cleared his throat. The robed man bowed once to the statue and then got to his feet and turned toward Geralt. 

“Ah yes, the Witcher. Welcome.”

“How did you know who I am?” Geralt asked, a bit exacerbated after having asked this question to every priest he had come across with no answer.

“You are favored by my god’s favorite brother and therefore are favored by my god. We are here to serve you in any way we can. To be blessed by the gods is a great privilege.”

Geralt glanced up again at the statue. “You can’t help me.”

“Wrong!” The robed man said, clasping his arms behind his back. “We have received revelation as to your troubles, now come learn how to worship a god properly.”

_3 months later_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier brushed his hands across the petals of the flower, the glass was smooth to the touch. His Witchers hadn’t noticed him yet and to be honest he was a bit disappointed. He stepped back, ready to disappear again so he could arrive in a more dramatic fashion when his foot kicked something sending it clattering across the altar. He knelt down and picked up the clay bowl. It was filled to the brim with seashells, he held one up to his ear and the sounds of water lightly filtered out. Tears pricked at his eyes. 

“Geralt?” He called out, knowing who the offering was from. The Witchers stirred and one of them lurched to their feet, his white hair Witcher. Carefully placing the bowl of shells down at the stone wolf’s feet he lightly jumped down from the altar and rushed across the room, throwing himself into Geralt’s arms.

“Promise me you won’t leave again.” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“Never again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to decide the future of this fanfiction. I think most the plottyness of this story is over. I might do a chapter or two of some fluffy adventures of Jaskier and Geralt. At the very least there will be a short epilogue.


	12. The Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier weaves the tales of the White Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I AM SO EXCITED. I just got the Witcher III today for my birthday!! :D :D The obsession continues :) Anyways, here is some post plot fluff for your viewing pleasure. <3

The fire flickered warmly at Jaskier’s feet, billowing heated waves of air that simmered against his face. The sweet scent of the smoke seeped into his clothing and coated his hair. Geralt leaned forward to stoke the fire, sending burning pieces of ash shooting into the air, glittering like fireflies against the black of the night. One by one they winked out, the lifeless ash swirled away, caught on the wind. Jaskier was fascinated, fire consumed everything in its path. It burned so bright, but the faster it spread, the hotter it burned, the more destruction it reaped, the faster it died. It reminded him of his Witchers. They lived life hard and fast and many times their lives were cut short because of it. He turned his focus to Geralt, who was still stooped over the fire. His white hair hung down and covered his face as he pushed the pot of stew further into the coals, carefully rearranging the wood to get at the molten coals beneath. 

“Hey Geralt-” Jaskier started, his voice abrasive against the silence of the forest.

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

Jaskier folded his arms and grumpily leaned back against the tree. “You’re trampling my artistic expression!”

“You gave me hair made of silver and eyes made of molten lava!” Geralt defended.

“It’s called a metaphor! If I wrote the songs the way you want me to, no one would listen, in fact they’d probably hate you even more for ruining their night with boring drivel!”

They’d had the same argument the past four nights. 

There was never any question that when Geralt left Kaer Morhen Jaskier would be going with him. If they seemed close before Jaskier’s ascension it was like they were joined at the hip now, Jaskier was the sun and Geralt was caught in his orbit. While Geralt had never before in his life been described as clingy, he clung to Jaskier like he was the last flask of water in a desert. Jaskier had to learn to eat with one hand as Geralt always kept one hand safely nestled in his own, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the thin fingers, like he had to constantly reassure himself that Jaskier was still there. During the nightly storytelling Jaskier never had to search for an open seat as Geralt would pull him up into his lap and hold him close, tucked securely against his chest. This was Jaskier’s favorite time of day. When Geralt held him close he could feel Geralt’s heartbeat pound against his chest. When he leaned back, Geralt’s scruff scratched pleasantly against his cheek. When he tired before the other Witchers he could wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck, bury his face in the softness of his hair and fall asleep, safe in his warm embrace.

They stayed for another month, Jaskier basking in the worship of his followers. He was still trying to figure out the limits to his new powers. It took him years to master the few skills he had when he first awakened. It might take him decades to figure out the breadth of his new array of powers. Until then he needed to be extra careful, his connection to the mortal world and the heavens strengthened with his ascension and he was able to influence both worlds with greater ease. While this allowed him to use his powers more efficiently, he wasn’t used to how sensitive the world had become to him. 

Letho was the first to leave, and it was a teary eyed affair. Well, it would be more accurate to say Jaskier was full blown sobbing and clutching at Letho while Letho tried his best to comfort him in his stoic manner. When Letho’s grip on him suddenly tightened and he felt fear swirl out of both Letho and Geralt it broke him out of his hysteria. He wiped the tears clouding his vision and gaped at the forest around them. The trees nearest to the building were rotted. Their leaves, vibrant green earlier that morning were brown and dry, crisping apart in the wind. The trunks had softened and were collapsing in on themselves. Creaking echoed from the forest as the weakened roots lost their grip on the earth and the sagging trees toppled over. He looked up and the once clear sky was now dark and ominous, the rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. 

Letho steeled himself and knelt before Jaskier. He wiped the rest of the tears from his face and pulled him into a hug. 

“No need for tears, little flower, I will see you soon, yes?”

Jaskier sniffled and nodded. The angry clouds slowly shuffled off and the sun shone bright once more but the trees stayed dead. Jaskier was going to have to be careful until he had more of a grip on exactly what “ascended” meant lest he cause irreparable damage to something important. 

When most the Witchers had departed Jaskier silently packed their bags and handed them to Geralt, ready to get on the road. Even before they left Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had already started his first composition. Now that he no longer had to worry about a ticking clock, he could focus solely on securing his Witcher’s futures. He knew Geralt’s disdain for the spotlight so he composed in secret. When they stopped in towns to look for more work or to collect on a bounty, Jaskier would wait until Geralt was asleep before sneaking out of his warm embrace and back down to the tavern to perform his latest song. They were a hit. Within a few weeks the songs had outpaced them and the first time Jaskier heard his own composition sung by a bard in the town they arrived in it filled his heart with hope. Geralt had been massively annoyed of course but before he could threaten the bard, Jaskier hurried him upstairs, generously tipping the bard as they scurried past. All was going well until four days ago. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like always Geralt left Jaskier downstairs to settle the room and provisions fee with the innkeeper while Geralt moved towards the bath that they had purchased. Geralt had been trying to get Jaskier into the bath for weeks. Jaskier refused the bath passionately and for some reason the dirt and filth from sleeping in the forest and traveling on the dusty road didn’t seem to cling to Jaskier the way it did to mortals.

“How is it that I come out of the forest with twigs in my hair and dirt under my fingernails and you still smell like lavender?!”

Jaskier looked at Geralt with amusement. “Humans are the only thing that would ever dare to sully a god Geralt. Everything else knows better.”

Geralt had noticed that the overgrown branches and bushes that scratched at his arms and face seemed mysteriously absent when he would glance behind to check on Jaskier. But he knew that a bath was more about just getting clean.

“Just try it, I know you’ll-”

“No Geralt.” Jaskier’s eyes glazed over as he continued. “The thick heat, the impeded movement, it feels like death. Trying to chase your souls as you leave me feels the exact same way, it's stifling and I _hate_ it.”

Geralt never mentioned the bath again. So it became their routine that Jaskier, ever the pleasant accommodating guest, would deal with the innkeeper while Geralt enjoyed his bath. Most nights he would enter the room to find Jaskier already asleep on the bed, the blankets somehow wrapped around his torso and tangled between his legs. Geralt would patiently untangle Jaskier from the blanket before climbing in behind him and pulling him close. This night was no different except, when Geralt awoke, Jaskier was gone. He blurrily checked the remainder of the room before clomping down the stairs toward the rambunctious noises filtering up from the tavern. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he quickly located Jaskier sitting at the counter merrily talking to the innkeep and a large man. 

“If you liked the song tonight wait a few more weeks, Geralt recently fought a giant and I’m almost done with the song, just trying to find the right word to rhyme with monstrosity.”

Geralt saw Jaskier’s head tilt toward the heavens in thought. The stranger leaned forward towards Jaskier and caught Geralt’s attention. Geralt would normally consider himself a very observant person. He had to be in order to track down the monsters through the forests and avoid getting ambushed. But Geralt could not tell you what this man looked like, not his hair color, or his facial features or even his build. But he could describe the man's hand in great detail, it was all he could focus on when it rested on Jaskier’s thigh. 

“That sounds very fascinating, I can’t wait.” The faceless man said with a husky voice as his hand inched further up Jaskier’s leg, the blatant inappropriateness of the action made the innkeeper flush and look away. Geralt stayed fixated on the hand as he moved forward. 

“You will remove your hand or I will remove your arm from its socket.” Geralt threatened. He saw the hand tense against Jaskier’s leg but it didn’t move away. If anything it moved even higher up. 

“Oh ho, the White Wolf himself, I did wonder if you two were involved the way Jaskier sings about you, I guess I was right.” The man’s speech slurred like he was heavily intoxicated but the hand remained steady. Geralt didn’t bring any weapons with him into the tavern but he wouldn’t need any to dismember this scum of the earth. He was just about to make good on his promise of a dislocated shoulder when the man howled in pain and the hand jerked away from Jaskier. The man clutched at his face with both of his hands.

“Don’t worry, you’ll regain your sight eventually...probably, actually I would find a good corner to beg on just in case, never really dabbled in curses before. Easy to make mistakes.” Jaskier said lightly as he jumped out of his chair and moved over to Geralt who wrapped his arm protectively around Jaskier, escorting him back upstairs to the safety of their room. It wasn’t until the next day that Geralt had the energy to be angry about the music, which brought them back to now. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on Geralt, you know things have gotten easier since I started right? The mayor in the last town only threatened to throw you out once and actually paid you what he promised you!”

Geralt grumbled something that by all accounts was completely unintelligible but Jaskier took it as agreement. 

Jaskier brightened “Then it’s settled, I’ll compose and you just sit there and try not to scare everyone away.”

“Wait, that’s not what I agreed to at all!” But Jaskier was already off in his own little world, thinking up his next lyrics. Ready to change the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for sticking with this story till the very end. You are all amazing and i appreciate you reading my shameless fluff. Epilogue next chapter :D


	13. Epilogue: Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here is the last of it :)

Memories fade as time passes. Tales of heroics are lost to the slow churn of time. But one tale refused to fade into oblivion. That of the White Wolf of Rivea. Long after the time of the Witchers, bards still sang the songs and recited the ballads of the famous man. The genius of their composition still studied at the musical colleges. One more rose to notoriety with the White Wolf, that of his companion. Some call him the Witcher king, others the White Wolf’s voice. He was widely thought to be the author of many of the lyrics and tales of the Witchers. It was debated what his role at the White Wolf’s side was, lover, friend, master, servant, but one thing was agreed upon. He was not human. 

It is said when the last Witcher died a cry rent the air, shattering the hearts of any who heard it. Some say he died that day, not able to go on living without his Witchers. Others claim to have seen him wandering aimlessly among the ruins of the Witcher schools, searching for those that have long since passed on. 

The scholars who went to scour the ruins were surprised to find temples beneath each of the schools, each altar bearing the symbol of the school wrapped around a single glass flower. From this discovery another rumor spread. Some say, in the wild flower fields high in the mountains, if you recite the poem carved into the temple’s walls, you can catch the barest glimpse of the White Wolf’s companion, surrounded by all the Witchers of the past, the white Wolf at his right hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who reached the end, hope this satisfied some of your need for fluff. Thanks to everyone who left comments or dropped some kudos :D

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt appears in the next chapter! Eventually I'll get sick of writing Witcher fanfic but TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY. Also! Small note, Jaskier means Buttercup in Polish.


End file.
